The Encino Traveler
by Notorious JMG
Summary: Chuck discovers that life is imitating art to a rather disturbing degree. As Fulcrum re-emerges, Chuck must figure out how to resolve his situation, because Sarah's life - and his own - depend on it.
1. Project Kali

_This story picks up immediately at the end of _Chuck vs. the Ring, Pt. II.

* * *

The vault beneath the house in Encino was not really what Chuck had been expecting. Of course, the truth was, he hadn't even set foot in the old house in years. He and Ellie each stopped by once a week, to make sure the sprinklers were working and to make sure there were no squatters in the house. But the truth was, Chuck tried so hard to avoid the house that he pretty much stayed out of the west Valley altogether. Even the mission to that godawful cookie-cutter neighborhood in Porter Ranch the year before had brought him uncomfortably close to the old Bartowski homestead.

It was clear, though, that Stephen J. Bartowski (deceased) had regularly visited the vault underneath the house. That alone made Chuck wonder just how many times over the years he and Ellie had just missed running into their father as he was at the old house. A mix of anger and sadness swept through him as he considered it – anger that their father had stayed away for so long, even if he had had his reasons, and sadness – well, as it had been for the last twenty-four hours, it was like a punch in the gut every time he thought of his father.

Goddamn Shaw. Shooting his father. After everything he had gone to to try and reconcile Stephen Bartowski to the family, Shaw had ruined everything. In the darkest recesses of Chuck's mind, he wished that he had pressed harder on Shaw's throat, shattered his trachea, watched him suffocate horribly. It was far kinder than the traitorous bastard deserved.

But Chuck had stopped. Stopped because he was better than Shaw. Stopped because he couldn't let Sarah watch him kill somebody in cold blood. Stopped because that was what his father would've wanted. He would've wanted him to back away from the precipice, let the powers that be take care of their own problems. It was, after all, why Stephen Bartowski had fled Los Angeles in the first place.

And so Chuck found himself in the old Bartowski vault. There were files everywhere. To Chuck's left, to his right, before him, behind him. Its extensiveness reminded Chuck distinctly of the warehouse from _Raiders of the Lost Ark_.

"I wonder how far out this place extends," Chuck mused to himself. Underneath the next several houses in either direction, to be sure. At the very least, under the street, and maybe even out the next block, all the way to Lindley Avenue. Hell, maybe even as far out as Reseda High School. It would certainly explain some of the truly bizarre things that had gone on there while Chuck was in high school.

Making sure the GPS tracking app on his new Droid was turned on (after going through half a dozen iPhones in two years time, Chuck had decided maybe it was time to change it up), Chuck began to wander westward, deeper into the vault. Every file looked the same – a white banker's box, most printed with the Office Depot logo, a small card with black type on the front. But far off, a flash of color caught Chuck's eye.

Intrigued, Chuck walked toward the flash of color. It took him a moment to reach it, but when he did, he discovered a banker's box that was yellow, standing out against all the boxes around it. "This is interesting…"

_PROJECT KALI_, the card on the front said. Raising an eyebrow, Chuck slid the box out from its place and blew the dust off the lid. Seating himself on the floor, Chuck set the box in front of him and pulled the lid off.

A sign on the top served as a warning to anybody who might be so foolish as to take an unauthorized peek inside. _CLASSIFIED _, it proclaimed. _INDIVIDUALS VIEWING THIS FILE WITHOUT _∆ _CLEARANCE ARE SUBJECT TO PROSECUTION UNDER UNITED STATES CODE SECTION 18, PART 1924_.

"Delta clearance," Chuck breathed. "Holy crap." Even he, Casey, and Sarah only had top secret clearance. He had heard of Delta clearance before, but never met anybody who had it. Well, General Beckman probably did, but Chuck had never asked. He felt like asking a spy what their official clearance was would be akin to asking a woman what her bra size was. You just didn't do it.

But it couldn't hurt to take a peek, right? After all, his dad MUST have left the files to him for a reason. Right?

Taking a breath and praying that he didn't get sprayed with anthrax (or, for that matter, fruit punch powder), Chuck lifted the clearance warning off of the top of the box. Underneath were several manila file folders, and a rather thick looking notebook. Emblazoned on the front were the words _PROJECT KALI_ and nothing more. "Hmmm."

Chuck pulled the notebook out and set it in his lap. He opened the front cover to see the delta clearance warning again. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Chuck muttered, flipping past the warning page. "Table of contents… come on, where's the good stuff… oh, HERE we go."

_EXECUTIVE SUMMARY_, it read.

_TO: The National Security Council_

_FROM: Stephen J. Bartowski_

_RE: Project Kali_

_DATE: 30 September 1989_

_CC: Agent Aeon, Agent Kronos_

_Regarding the feasibility of time travel: we have been operating under the concept that Einstein's Theory of General Relativity defines time travel as near impossibility. However, we must remember that this is merely a theory, not a physical law. Rather than operating under this theory, we must instead consider the use of quantum physics in order to achieve travel through time._

_Agent Kronos has been conducting studies in the use of a quantum-folding device that would allow instantaneous travel through time and space – a quantum "jump" or "leap", if you will. A plutonium core generates a controlled nuclear explosion. The quantum flux that results from this explosion is then channeled through a specially designed capacitor_ –

At that point, Chuck stopped reading, and looked up from the executive summary. "Bullshit," he breathed. "There's no possible way…"

But then, why was Agent Kronos' name highlighted? His dad wouldn't have just cribbed from _Back to the Future_ and then actually involved a real asset. Not unless something real was behind this all. Shaking his head, Chuck looked back down at the report.

_- which is mounted in a vehicle that has been carefully selected to meet certain specifications regarding stress from the quantum field. Such a vehicle has not yet been identified; however, it must have a strong yet light frame, it must be highly electrically conductive, and it must be able to sustain a constant speed of 147 kilometers per hour in order for the vehicle's body to actually break through the quantum barrier._

_This project is being overseen by Agent Aeon of the Central Intelligence Agency. Though he is not well-versed in theoretical physics, Agent Aeon does have a very active imagination that allows him to see theories in a way that other agents do not. Were he healthier physically, I would also recommend him as a potential candidate for Project Omaha; however, his penchant for heavy drinking leads to concerns regarding the physical health of his brain._

_Further reports will be forthcoming as the project continues._

_Respectfully submitted,  
Stephen J. Bartowski  
Orion Section_

And there at the bottom of the executive summary, in Stephen Bartowski's distinctive handwriting –

_Agent Kronos: Emmett L. Brown, Ph.D  
Agent Aeon: Roan Montgomery_

"Seriously…" Chuck muttered, his jaw hanging slightly open. "What the fu…"

His voice trailed off. This was unbelievable. There was actually a Doctor Emmett Brown, conducting experiments on time travel, in…

Chuck flipped to the next page, and then through a few more. Ah, there it was.

_Agent Kronos: location, MCAS Miramar._

In San Diego. Time travel experiments at a Marine Corps base in San Diego. And Roan Montgomery was working with him. Chuck shook his head, and looked down at his left wrist. Nope, the governor was working just fine. This was definitely not a hallucination.

Chuck kept flipping through the book, amazed that he wasn't flashing on anything. "This must've been buried deeper than the _Titanic_," he whispered. If it wasn't in the Intersect… this was some seriously heavy stuff.

After a few minutes, he reached the last page in the notebook. It was another memo, again addressed to the NSC, from his dad, but this one was dated April 20th, 2009, and it was very brief.

_I am concerned that the domestic terrorist organization known as FULCRUM may have attempted to co-opt Agent Kronos into building a nuclear device for them, and I am further concerned that Agent Kronos may have taken the nuclear fuel given to him in order to re-open Project Kali and conduct unauthorized experiments. I am hereby requesting that Agents Iuppiter and Turan be tasked to apprehend Agent Kronos and render him to a safe location until further information can be determined._

Now THOSE names, Chuck did flash on.

_Agent Iuppiter – National Security Agency; tasked to Project VISHNU, based Burbank, CA; name: Casey, Lt. Colonel John, USMC._

_Agent Turan – Central Intelligence Agency; tasked to Project VISHNU, based Burbank, CA: name: Delacroix, Lt. Comm. Samantha Lisa, USN._

"Lt. Commander Samantha Delacroix…" Chuck muttered – and then something happened which had never happened before. Auditory input from Chuck's own voice set off another flash –

_Delacroix, Lt. Comm. Samantha Lisa, USN. Tasked to Project VISHNU, based Burbank, CA. Alias AGENT TURAN, JENNIFER BURTON, SARAH WALKER_.

"Well, thank you, Intersect," Chuck remarked dryly. "Because I couldn't have figured out that a CIA agent assigned to a project in Burbank with John Casey was probably Sarah."

But there was another note written at the bottom of this memo – _Request denied; however, Fulcrum neutralized? Slightly concerned about Ring – knowledge of fringe Fulcrum operations unlikely_.

"So let's see," Chuck said to himself. "We've got a theoretical physicist attempting to build a time machine. His project gets shut down. Twenty years later, Ted Roark and his band of merry men approach the doctor to attempt to get him to build a nuclear device. He absconds with the nuclear fuel and resumes unauthorized experiments."

Chuck shook his head. "Jesus, even classified life imitates art."

That was when he heard a noise. It was a faint noise, but it was the distinctive sound of a heavy boot on a step. _Oh, crap_, Chuck thought. He had left the front door of the house unlocked and he had left the vault entrance in front of the fireplace wide open – and despite Shaw's apprehension, and the incarceration of the Ring's elders, there had to be splinter cells out there who were under orders to find Chuck at all costs.

Hands shaking, Chuck pulled his Droid from his belt and unlocked it. He was going to call Sarah, or Casey, get them over here, hopefully he could hide or hold out until –

Oh. The phone was on silent. Four missed calls from Sarah. Two from Casey. And a notification, from fifteen minutes prior – _Your location has been pinged by JOHN CASEY_.

"Uh-oh," Chuck said quietly – though apparently not as quietly as he thought.

"YEAH, YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT, UH-OH, BARTOWSKI!" the voice of John Casey roared through the vault. "I'VE HAD WALKER UP MY ASS FOR THE LAST HOUR BECAUSE SHE'S SCARED TO DEATH THAT SHE CAN'T GET IN TOUCH WITH YOU. GET YOUR SCRAWNY ASS OUT HERE BEFORE I FIND YOU AND WRING YOUR NECK LIKE A WASHCLOTH!"

Not good. Moving quickly, Chuck started packing everything back into the banker's box. He had just placed the clearance warning sheet on top of the files when a shadow fell over him.

Chuck slowly turned his head to see the face of John Casey looking down on him, a dark scowl on the NSA agent's face. "Find something interesting to read, Bartowski?" he snarled. "Something maybe above your clearance level?"

"Casey, it's in my dad's files –"

"IT'S A FEDERAL CRIME, BARTOWSKI," Casey growled. "And quite frankly, I think General Beckman has had just about enough of this particular team committing federal crimes."

Chuck sighed. "I'm sorry, Casey," he said. "I know Sarah must be worried sick, but I got so engrossed in this project –"

"Yeah, Walker's worried, but we've got bigger problems than that," Casey interrupted him. "The CIA research facility in San Mateo was destroyed less than an hour ago."

"What?" Chuck asked, incredulous. "Wait a second – San Mateo, isn't that where Laszlo was?"

"It wasn't him, if that's what you're thinking," Casey said. "He was found, crushed to death under a concrete beam in a research lab." Casey paused for a moment, and took a breath. "No, General Beckman got a call about ten minutes later from somebody who wanted to take credit for it. He said he was Fulcrum."

Chuck could feel the blood draining from his face. "No," he replied. "No, that's impossible. We destroyed Fulcrum. They collapsed when Ted Roark died."

Casey was shaking his head before Chuck even finished. "Think about it, Bartowski," Casey shot back. "You're supposed to be the smart one. Fulcrum's like a hydra. Whoever became the head after Roark died just laid low for a while and watched the Ring self-destruct, and as soon as his path was clear again, came back for seconds."

Chuck looked at Casey for a moment, then down at the open banker's box at his feet. "If that's so," he said slowly, "then we may have a problem."

"What?" Casey asked. "There something in that file about Fulcrum?"

Wordlessly, Chuck nodded. Reaching down, he pulled the notebook out of the banker's box. Opening it to the last page, he handed it to Casey.

"Fulcrum may have attempted to co-opt Agent Kronos…" Casey muttered. "Concerned that Agent Kronos may have taken the nuclear fuel given to him in order to re-open Project Kali and conduct unauthorized experiments…"

Casey looked up at Chuck. "If this is true…"

"Then there's an angry terrorist organization out there gunning for a theoretical physicist who worked on one of the US government's most sensitive projects," Chuck completed the statement.

"We gotta get to the Castle then," Casey said. "We have to inform General Beckman of this right –"

"No, we can't do that," Chuck interrupted. "If we tell General Beckman about this, she'll want to know how we got our information, which blows the existence of this vault –"

"Oh, for God's sake, Bartowski!" Casey snapped. "Are you suggesting we run off, rescue this Agent Kronos, and all comers be damned?"

"It's not like we haven't taken on Fulcrum before –"

"And I'm getting sick and tired of doing so singlehandedly!" Casey growled. "Jesus, aren't you? I know Walker's getting tired of watching you put life and limb in jeopardy. Your sister would probably kill you if she even knew you were considering it." Casey shook his head. "For God's sake, Bartowski, let the professionals handle it for once."

"Casey –"

"CHUCK."

The older man's use of Chuck's first name was enough to make Chuck shut up. "Look, I know you still have the 'save the world' bug. I was the same way the first couple of years I was in the Marines. But sometimes you have to know when to let other people handle things."

Chuck nodded. "Alright, then," Casey said. "Let's get to Castle."

* * *

"_This is not encouraging_," General Beckman said. She looked exhausted, which, given her last few days, was not surprising. "_Given Fulcrum's re-emergence, the fact that they planned to acquire a nuclear device a year ago is a real worry_."

Then she frowned. "_However, Fulcrum can wait just a moment. Mr. Bartowski, I'm going to give you thirty seconds in which you are going to tell me just how the hell you came into possession of a Delta clearance file, and exactly what you thought you were doing reading it._"

"It was in my father's vault," Chuck replied. "He has an extensive collection of records related to operations and agents going back what looks to be at least thirty years. I feel obligated to him to make sure it's kept safe."

"_I appreciate your commitment to your father's memory_," Beckman said. "_However, when this meeting ends, a team of GSA officers will meet you at the Orange Orange. You will take them to this vault, where they will secure its contents_ –"

"No."

Beckman's eyes widened, and a glow closely approximating a nuclear explosion lit up her face. "_Excuse me, Mr. Bartowski?_" she replied. Her voice stayed tight and level, but it was quite clear she had just gone from annoyed to irate.

"You just purged a third of the agents in the Directorate of National Intelligence," Chuck said, his voice calm but his stomach full of butterflies. "God knows how many other Ring agents you haven't found yet. I don't trust the government to secure my father's files. As long as I'm the only one who knows where they are – well, me and Colonel Casey – they should be safe. For now, at least."

Beckman just stared at Chuck for a moment. _Oh God, don't let me crack, don't let me crack, don't let me_ –

"_Fine._"

Chuck's jaw dropped. "What?"

"_I said, fine,_" Beckman gritted through her teeth. "_However, you and your team will locate Agent Kronos and take him into protective custody_."

"Uh, General Beckman," Casey interrupted, speaking for the first time since the conversation started, "our team is rather beat up. We were hoping for a little time off, that somebody else could handle –"

"_As Agent Bartowski just reminded us all, the DNI just lost a third of its agents, Colonel Casey_," General Beckman growled. "_We are somewhat shorthanded right now. YOU will take care of this. That is, unless you want to lose your job again?_"

Casey's face darkened at the reminder of his recent stint in civilian life. "No, ma'am."

"_Good._" Then Beckman's face softened, and she shook her head. "_For God's sake, John, it's just a drive down to San Diego to pick up a physicist. Surely you can handle that._"

Casey nodded sullenly. "Yes, ma'am."

General Beckman disconnected, and the screen went dark. "Goddammit," Casey muttered, as he stomped off toward the armory.

Chuck released the breath he had been holding in, and turned to Sarah. It was then that he realized that she had not spoken a single word since arriving. "Uh, hi," he said to her.

"Hi," she replied shortly.

"I, uh, think Ellie's gonna kill me," Chuck said nervously, drawing an irritated look from Sarah. "Because, you know, I told her I was going to stop doing this stuff."

Sarah scowled and muttered something under her breath. Chuck frowned. "What?"

"I said, she can fucking get in line!" Sarah snapped at him – and the floodgates opened. "I mean, Jesus CHRIST, Chuck, what the hell were you thinking? You know, I thought that you and I were going to spend a little while with our friends at your dad's wake, and then we were going to kick them all out and have a nice night together! INSTEAD, you disappeared, you turned your phone off, Fulcrum decided to start maniacally running around again, I couldn't get in touch with you – which, what the hell was I supposed to think, by the way? – and now I discover that you were looking at stuff you shouldn't have even been TOUCHING, and as a result, you've wound up landing us RIGHT back in the shit you and I were trying to get away from!"

Chuck's jaw fell open, and he gaped at his girlfriend. "Uh… I… I'm sorry?"

"I'm sorry doesn't even begin to cover it," Sarah growled, standing up from her seat and approaching him. "I don't even want to talk to you right now."

"Sarah," Chuck replied, "look, this is important. You know that. Hell, it's what you do, isn't it?"

That was a mistake. Fury flashed in Sarah's eyes, and her right hand flew upward. However, before the slap could connect, the Intersect kicked in, and Chuck's own left hand shot up to grasp Sarah's wrist. However, instead of jerking downward to disable her, as the Intersect tried to make him do, Chuck gently spun Sarah backwards and away from him, before using her wrist to pull him back toward her.

Still holding onto her wrist, his right arm encircled her waist. "That's not what I meant to say, exactly," he said sheepishly. She struggled against him, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. "I just meant that you're the greatest agent I've ever known. You don't back away from anything."

The look on Sarah's face began to soften. "You've got a long way until you're out of the doghouse, pal," she growled, although a hint – just a hint, but it was enough to work with – of humor began to sparkle in her eyes.

"I'm sorry?"

"For what?"

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "For running away without telling you where I was going…"

"Good start. What else?"

"For turning off my phone?"

"And…"

"For getting into things I shouldn't have gotten into?"

"Getting warmer…"

"For assuming that you would just automatically get into all things dangerous and spy-related?"

A smile actually appeared on Sarah's lips. "There you go," she said quietly. "I may still work for the CIA, but they're not the most important thing in my life anymore."

Chuck smiled bashfully, and lowered his gaze a little bit, relaxing his grip on Sarah's wrist as he did so – which turned out to be a mistake. Reaching up her right hand, she grabbed his ear. "However, I will NOT hesitate to tell the most important thing in my life when he's being a total dumbass!" she growled. "I will also not hesitate to tell him when I am rather displeased that I'll be sitting in a bunker all night, trying to figure out where a rogue physicist is, rather than at home, having my way with the most important thing in my life!"

Sarah released Chuck's ear and pushed him away. Reaching up a hand to rub his ear, Chuck looked at Sarah in chagrin – and then started to smile. "What's so damn funny?"

"You're adorable when you're psycho," Chuck snarked.

In spite of herself, a laugh bubbled to Sarah's lips. "I'm not psycho," she growled good-naturedly. "Just horny."

"Oh, dear GOD," Casey's voice rumbled from the armory. "Save me from ever having to hear anything like that again."

"Earmuffs, Casey!" Chuck shouted. Then, he stepped closer to Sarah so he could speak more quietly. "I tell you what. I know a way that will allow us to get out of here in just a few minutes."

Sarah frowned. "What do you mean? We have to find this Agent Kronos."

Chuck grinned and shook his head. "No we don't. His handler was an Agent Aeon, and given the nature of the project, I bet that Agent Kronos and Agent Aeon are still in touch."

"And?" Sarah replied with a shrug. "That just means we have to find another…" She noticed the smirk on Chuck's face and narrowed her eyes. "You know who Agent Aeon is, don't you, smartass?"

Chuck's grin got wider. "One Agent Roan Montgomery."

"Oh, GODDAMMIT," Casey's voice sounded again. "I HATE Palm Springs in June."

* * *

"The weapon we received from Dr. Brown is completely useless. It looks good from the outside, but a circuitry test revealed a problem. When we opened it up, all it turns out he did was stuff it full of components from an old Pentium computer.

"If we are to re-establish ourselves as a credible power in this country, we must be able to make a statement. Blowing up a single CIA research facility is not the way to go about it.

"Bring Dr. Brown here, and force him to construct the device as we instructed. If he refuses…"

The new director of Fulcrum leaned over the head of the table, a look of disgust on his face. "Let's just say I wouldn't mind him winding up dead."

* * *

To say it was scorching hot would be an understatement. Only 9:30 AM, and it was already pushing 100 degrees. To make matters worse, the air conditioner in Casey's Crown Vic had quit – whether from overuse or simple despair – somewhere around Yucaipa, leaving them to drive the last forty-five minutes in stifling heat.

"Goddammit, where is the old bastard?" Casey growled, as Chuck rang the doorbell for the third time. Both he and Chuck were suffering from the heat. Sarah, however, looked cool, calm, and collected – for whatever reason.

Finally, the door swung open – to reveal a lithe, petite blonde, clad only in lingerie that didn't really cover much. "Can I help you?" she asked uncertainly.

Sarah waited for one of the two men to speak – but heard nothing. Turning around, she saw that Chuck and Casey were both staring at the woman who had opened the door, looks of disbelief on their faces. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the woman.

"We're here to see Roan Montgomery," Sarah told her.

The woman frowned. "Is he expecting you?"

"Not particularly," Sarah said. "But do me a favor, and tell him that it's Agents Walker, Casey, and… Carmichael."

"Okay," the blonde replied. "Uh, would you like to come in?"

"Yes, please!" Chuck spouted off from behind Sarah, as Casey simultaneously said, "Oh, God yes."

The three entered the house, as the blonde turned and headed back toward the bedroom, giving the three a rather revealing look at her backside as she went.

Chuck turned to Casey. "Was that…"

"Sara Jean Underwood," Casey muttered in disbelief. "Playmate of the Year."

"2007," Chuck added. "How DOES the old man do it?"

"Confidence, Charles!" boomed the distinctive voice of Roan Montgomery from across the room. He finished tying shut his silk robe as he approached the agents. "Welcome to Palm Springs!"

"Nicest place this side of hell," Sarah cracked, although there was a distinct lack of humor in her voice. "Agent Montgomery, we need to talk to you."

"Agent, is it?" Roan asked, a grin on his face. "Well, go ahead," he said as Sara re-entered the room, now clad in a robe herself. "Oh, don't worry about her," he continued, noting the look of concern on Sarah Walker's face. "Anything you can say to me, she's okay to hear."

Sarah turned to Chuck. "Uh, Roan, this is actually about Project Kali," he said.

The grin on Montgomery's face instantly disappeared, replaced by a gravely serious look. "Uh, Sara Jean, sweetheart, I need to talk to these folks in private for a moment."

As soon as Sara had left the room, Roan turned back to the three agents from Burbank. "How in the HELL do you know about Project Kali?" he hissed. "That's so highly classified that the three of you should sure as hell NOT know about it!"

Chuck looked back at Roan. "Are you familiar with Agent Orion?"

"Of course I am," Roan replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "He was the project manager for three of the biggest Agency projects at the end of the '80s – Kali included – right before he disappeared."

"Yeah," Chuck said. "Orion was my father. Stephen J. Bartowski. He kept files on everything, and one of the ones I found was that on Project Kali."

Montgomery shook his head. "I don't understand why you're here, though," he said. "Kali was terminated in 1996."

"I know that," Chuck answered. "However, about a year ago, Orion issued a memo to the National Security Council expressing concern that Agent Kronos had been contracted by Fulcrum to build a nuclear device, but that he had instead taken the nuclear fuel to resume experimentation on Project Kali."

"A serious problem indeed," Montgomery said, his brow furrowing, "but Fulcrum was wiped out a year ago."

"Not entirely," Sarah interjected. "Apparently, they've spent the last year lying low and rebuilding, and last night, they destroyed a CIA research facility in San Mateo."

Montgomery was silent for a moment. "That is definitely a problem," he finally said. "However, I don't know how coming to see me is going to help. I hardly know Agent Kronos. Hell, I don't even know the man's real name."

"But you still have ways to contact him, don't you?" Chuck replied. "Some sort of flag, a message system of some sort?"

Roan looked at Chuck for a very long moment – and when he finally spoke, it had nothing to do with contacting Agent Kronos. "Something's changed about you, Carmichael," he said. "You aren't the optimistic young man you were a year and a half ago. You speak with the voice of a hardened agent. You have the look of a hardened agent." He fell quiet again. "You killed somebody, didn't you?"

Chuck shook his head. "Surprisingly, no," he said. "I thought I had –"

"Even worse," Montgomery interrupted. "You thought you had killed your target, only to find later that they were still alive?"

"It doesn't matter," Chuck insisted, shaking his head. "He's in a deep, dark bunker somewhere now. Can we get back to the matter at hand?"

Montgomery stared at Chuck for another moment, apparently unconvinced. "Alright," he finally said. "I have a very simple way to contact Agent Kronos. I should have contact with him within half an hour."

* * *

True to his word, Roan Montgomery had a message from Agent Kronos twenty-eight minutes later. It had been a matter of a coded message posted on the Portland, Maine Craigslist page, with a coded reply posted on the _Fringe_ discussion form at Television Without Pity. Roan read over the message, decoding it bit by bit.

"Good morning, Agent Aeon!" he finally began. "It's good to hear from you! I've hoped you would contact me, because I have amazing news – Project Kali is a SUCCESS!"

"Oh, Jesus," Casey breathed. "Not good."

"I have to demonstrate this for you. Meet me at 2300 tonight at the San Diego Sports Arena, and you'll see! Then we can get in touch with Orion, and show the CIA that this works!"

Silence filled the room. Finally, Sarah spoke up.

"I think we need to get back to Burbank," she said. "Roan, you're coming with us."

* * *

As the director of Fulcrum spoke, an aide came up and handed him a slip of paper. He read it over quickly, and a feral grin broke out on his face.

"Well," he said, "it appears that Dr. Brown has saved us the trouble of locating him. We will find him at the San Diego Sports Arena, at 11:00 PM."

* * *

"_I want you four to go to San Diego and apprehend Agent Kronos_," General Beckman ordered the team. Chuck was only paying partial attention – he was more focused on being thankful that he was back in the blissfully cool air conditioning of the Castle. "_Agent Montgomery, you're his contact, so you'll be the lead on this one._"

Surprisingly, neither Sarah nor Casey objected – a move, Chuck suspected, designed to show their deference to the senior agent. "Understood," Roan replied. "Dia – uh, General Beckman, I would like to request a tac team for support on this mission."

"_Request denied, Agent Montgomery_," Beckman said. "_Unfortunately, our ranks are spread a little thin right now. You'll have to make do._" She looked at Roan curiously. "_He's just a physicist. Surely you can handle picking him up on your own._"

Montgomery sighed. "Yes, ma'am," he answered. "I would just feel more comfortable with a full team."

"_Agent Montgomery, if you need further support, you're authorized to take Agent Grimes and Dr. Woodcomb_ –"

"NO," Chuck interrupted forcefully. "Not Morgan, and absolutely NOT Devon."

General Beckman turned a nasty look on Chuck. "_Agent Bartowski_," she snapped, "_Morgan Grimes is a sworn officer of the Central Intelligence Agency. If he is ordered to participate in a mission, he will DO SO. As for Devon Woodcomb, he has agreed to provide logistical support when necessary_ –"

"General," Chuck said, "I understand what you're saying, but I'm already probably a dead man just for participating in this mission. If my sister finds out that I'm dragging Morgan and Devon back in as well… well, let's just say that I find the idea of being waterboarded more appealing."

General Beckman's look at Chuck would've felled a lesser man. However, after three years, Chuck had learned how to endure the wrath of General Beckman, and he stood his ground, staring right back at her. "_Very well_," she finally said. "_However, Agent Bartowski, you must understand that this means that you will personally hold a far greater degree of responsibility for the success of this mission._"

"Yes, ma'am," Chuck replied. "I understand."

"_Report back regularly_," General Beckman said to the whole team. "_I want to know as soon as you have Agent Kronos in custody_."

* * *

At 10:58 PM, John Casey's Crown Vic pulled into the parking lot of the San Diego Sports Arena. The old venue was absolutely deserted, save for an antique U-Haul parked around back of the arena.

"Where the hell is he, Montgomery?" Casey growled. "His note said 2300, did it not?"

"It absolutely did," Roan replied. "Have some patience, John. He is a mad scientist. They're not exactly the most punctual people in the world."

Chuck looked over at Sarah, sitting with him in the back of the Crown Vic. He rubbed a thumb across their interlocked fingers. _I'm sorry_, he mouthed. _But I love you_.

Sarah's grin could have lit up the entire San Diego area. _I love you too_, she mouthed back, and then leaned in. "You can make it up to me when we get back to L.A.," she whispered in Chuck's ear.

"You have a deal," he whispered back, and then sat back up, grinning. He looked at the clock on Casey's dashboard – 10:59 PM… and then it changed to 11:00.

Just as it did so, the old U-Haul suddenly lit up, without warning. Slowly, the back end began to lower to the ground, groaning loudly as it did so. A cloud of steam and smoke emerged from the back of the truck as the back end lowered, turning into a ramp. "What the hell…" Casey muttered, reaching for his Glock and making sure the safety was off.

Without warning, a car rolled out of the U-Haul, spun toward the Crown Vic, and started accelerating toward Casey's car at an alarming rate. "Shit!" Casey shouted. "Everybody out!"

The four agents all bailed out of the car, three of them aiming guns at the approaching car – but it had already begun to veer away from Casey's car, toward a more open area of the parking lot. It continued to accelerate, the whine of its engine growing louder – and then, in a brilliant flash of light, it disappeared. Not exploded, not crashed, but completely disappeared, leaving twin trails of flame behind it.

The four all stared in disbelief. "There is no possible way that just happened," Chuck finally said. "The governor must have stopped working. I have to be hallucinating."

Guns still up, Sarah and Casey started slowly making their way over toward the flickering trails of flame. "Bartowski, you read the file, mind explaining to me what just happened?"

"Uh…" Chuck thought for a moment. "Have you ever seen _Back to the Future_?"

"That's a negative. I don't watch anything with Steven Spielberg's name attached to it."

Chuck cocked his head to one side. _What the hell?_ he thought, filing that completely random piece of knowledge away for later. "Well, you see, this project was designed to create a time machine –"

"That much I realize, Bartowski. Tell me HOW that just happened."

"The project was designed to fold actual space and time, causing the time travel vehicle to pass through quantum space. They did so by creating a controlled nuclear reaction, causing a quantum flux, which was then channeled through a specially designed electrical capacitor. This created a quantum flux field around the vehicle, which had to be travelling at a certain speed in order to break through the quantum barrier."

Casey stared at Chuck for a moment. "I understood… some of that," he admitted. "How fast did the vehicle have to be travelling to pass through the barrier?"

_What was that number?_ Chuck asked himself. "Uh, 147 kilometers per hour," he replied. "I think."

That was when a stiff wind suddenly started blowing across the parking lot. "What the hell is that?" Casey asked.

A look of alarm appeared on Roan's face. "Colonel Casey!" he shouted. "Get AWAY from the tire tracks!"

A confused look appeared on Casey's face, but military training had long taught him to immediately obey an order of that nature, and he dove away –

Just as a sonic boom rippled across the arena's parking lot, the vehicle reappearing and skidding to a stop.

For a moment, Chuck just stood, staring at the car. Finally, he forced his jaw shut. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

"Chuck, what just happened?" Sarah asked. "Did that car just time travel?"

Chuck just nodded. "I think so," he replied, dumbfounded. "And I might be seeing things, but – is that a DeLorean?"

"Stainless steel body," Roan confirmed. "Perfect for what we needed in a vehicle." He shook his head. "I can't believe the old goat actually did it."

And that was when the driver's door of the DeLorean swung upward and open, steam rising off it as it did so. "Old goat, Agent Aeon?" a voice came from within.

"Agent Kronos," Roan said, stepping toward the car. "We need to talk."

"In a moment," the reply came, as a pair of legs swung out of the car. The man lifted himself out of the car and stood, revealing…

Somebody who looked not one bit like Christopher Lloyd. _How disappointing_, Chuck thought to himself. Here he was expecting a tall, scrawny, mad scientist looking individual, and instead, he got a shorter, stocky, grey-haired man who looked like he should be wearing a smoking jacket and being attended to by Playboy bunnies. _Which Roan could apparently arrange_.

"Aeon," Dr. Brown asked, "who are your friends?"

"First of all, stop calling me Aeon," Roan instructed. "My name –"

"No!" Brown exclaimed, holding up a hand. "We were never supposed to know each other's names, it's more secure that way –"

"My name is Roan Montgomery," Roan growled. "The time for subterfuge has passed, Dr. Brown."

Brown's eyes widened. "Who – who told you my name?"

"I did," Chuck replied, stepping forward. "Agent Carmichael. Charles Carmichael."

"Wait a second," Roan interrupted. "Is your name Carmichael, or is it not?"

"I'll explain later," Chuck told him. "Look, Dr. Brown, we believe you're in serious danger. About a year ago, you were approached by a terrorist group called Fulcrum. They asked you to build a nuclear device, but instead of doing so, you stole their plutonium, which I assume you used to power this vehicle?"

"Uh, yes," Brown replied, a confused look on his face. "But Fulcrum – they fell apart when Ted Roark died. I thought –"

"They're back," Sarah interrupted. "They blew up a CIA research facility in San Mateo last night, and we think they're probably coming for you next."

Brown's face drained of color. "Oh, God," he whispered.

"We'll protect you," Casey said. "But Dr. Brown, we need you to come with us, right now."

"No, no, no," Brown insisted. "It's not safe. There's nowhere you can keep me safe from them. Not really –"

He whirled back toward the DeLorean. "Look, I can go hide in the past until it's safe. I set the time computer to a date that I wanted to show you, because I want to demonstrate – it's the date that I came up with this technology, when I started –"

The man was babbling. Casey and Sarah both looked about ready to shoot him, and Roan just looked exasperated. "Dr. Brown," Chuck interrupted quietly. "Dr. Brown!"

The old scientist fell silent, turning back toward Chuck. Chuck had to get him to concentrate. "When… what date was it?"

In spite of himself, a grin appeared on Brown's face. "November 4th, 1980!" he exclaimed. "The day Ronald Reagan was elected President!"

"God bless America," Chuck heard Casey mutter.

Chuck turned his attention back toward the physicist. "And you plan to go hide there?"

"Absolutely," Brown replied. "I lived in San Diego then, I know the city. I have enough currency from before 1980 to survive for a while at least. And DeLoreans were rare but not completely unknown."

Chuck looked over at Sarah, who had a thoughtful look on her face. Finally, though she shook her head. "Okay," Chuck said.

"Dr. Brown, we need to take you into protective custody," Sarah said, advancing on him. "We will personally guarantee your safety. It would be completely irresponsible for us to let you go running around at some point in the past –"

And suddenly, the squeal of tires was heard. Chuck locked eyes with Sarah. "Oh, God," he heard Dr. Brown gasp. "They found me. I don't know how they did it, but they found me. Run!"

Abandoning the DeLorean, Brown began running for the safety of the distant U-Haul. The four agents all beat a path back to Casey's Crown Vic. "What about Brown?" Chuck shouted at Casey as the NSA agent started up the old Ford.

"He's on his own," Casey shot back. "He made his bed, now he has to sleep in it."

"Casey, we can't just leave him behind –"

"Oh yes we can, and we will," Casey growled, as he pushed the Crown Vic's accelerator to the floor – and just as quickly came to a stop, a black Hummer appearing from around the side of the arena to block their progress.

"Montgomery, open the glovebox!" Casey snapped at the older agent. "There's a set of buttons in there, one green, one red. Press the green one first, to target, then press the red one…"

Casey's voice trailed off, in a way that would've been funny had they not been in such a bad situation. "Your numbnuts brother-in-law used my missile on that armored truck," he breathed. "Shit."

"GET OUT OF THE CAR, AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!"

The voice that boomed from the Hummer's loudspeaker was familiar, but Chuck couldn't readily identify it. "It's not Shaw, I can tell that at least," he grumbled, drawing a smile from Sarah despite the trouble they were in.

The four agents all stepped out of the car again, hands in the air. "DROP YOUR WEAPONS ON THE GROUND AND KICK THEM AWAY!"

Again, they did as they complied, guns rattling as they were sent out of reach. And then…

"Mother fucker," Casey breathed as Cole Barker stepped out of the cab of the Hummer.

Chuck's jaw dropped. "Cole?" he gasped in disbelief. "What? Why?"

Cole looked at Chuck, a mixture of anger and sympathy on his face. "Simply put, Six was rather annoyed that I allowed myself to be so thoroughly compromised while working with your team," he said. "Please understand, I don't blame you – any of you, really. However, I will make Six pay for their ignorance, and I will make Dr. Brown pay for his transgressions."

"Cole, don't do this," Sarah pleaded with him. "This isn't you."

"Would you really know?" Barker shot back. "I seem to recall you turned me down for Mr. Bartowski over there, so while I appreciate your attempt to get me to see the light, I believe that you don't know me nearly as well as you think."

Cole turned his attention back to Chuck. "Chuck, please go retrieve Dr. Brown from his truck."

"Cole –"

"Go NOW, Chuck," Cole growled. "I really don't want this to get nasty."

Silently, Chuck nodded, and turned to head toward the truck. He had just reached the DeLorean when he heard a commotion behind him.

Chuck turned to see Sarah punch Cole in the face. He went down hard, and that gave Casey and Roan the opportunities they needed. The two dove for their guns, and Sarah turned toward hers –

The shot that rang out at that moment would burn itself into Chuck's eardrums. He had no idea who had fired it, only that a red bloom had suddenly appeared on Sarah's chest. She looked down at her chest in disbelief, and then collapsed to the pavement.

"NOOOOOO!" Chuck screamed. "SARAH!"

And that was when the first bullet flew past Chuck's head. Startled, he dove into the DeLorean – but he couldn't stay there. If he just sat in the car, he was a sitting duck –

Keys. Keys were in the ignition. "Fuck," Chuck swore, wiping tears from his eyes as he reached toward the ignition. He grabbed the door strap and pulled it close as the engine fired up. Slamming the car into drive, Chuck stomped on the accelerator, laying rubber tracks as the DeLorean leapt toward the Fulcrum terrorists ahead.

_If I can get to Sarah, I can get her into the car, maybe get her to a hospital_ _in time_, Chuck thought, ignoring the part of his brain that was telling him that given the rapidity with which blood had appeared on her chest, the bullet had probably pierced Sarah's heart and she was likely already dead. He accelerated toward the Hummer –

"JESUS!" One of the Fulcrum men had stepped out of the Hummer, a light anti-tank weapon launcher in hand. Chuck slammed on the brakes and popped the DeLorean into reverse, turning to look over his shoulder as he raced away –

And that's when the Intersect went active. A few seconds of flashing images later, he suddenly had professional evasive driving skills imprinted on his brain. "Alright, you bastards, let's party," he growled, flipping the car around in a skillful 180. He took off toward the other end of the arena, hoping to draw the Hummer away, so he could loop back around, get Sarah – maybe Casey and Roan could get her and escape in the Crown Vic –

"Oh, hell." There was another Hummer waiting on the side of the arena. Wrenching up the e-brake, Chuck slid to a stop, facing back the other direction. He had to figure out some kind of way out of this situation –

Bullets began spanging off the rear bumper of the DeLorean as Chuck threw it back into drive. As he did so, he realized that the other Hummer was coming his direction. "Let's dance, Cole," Chuck growled, pointing the DeLorean at the Hummer and hitting the gas.

The thirty year old sports car accelerated with alacrity toward the big SUV, the other one just a few feet behind him. Chuck laughed like a madman as it came toward him. "I'm no chicken, Cole!" he shouted. "I'm gonna save the girl, and you're gonna lose!"

And that was when something strange started to happen – the DeLorean's body began to glow, and sparks began to come off the front bumper. "What the hell…"

Chuck looked at his speedometer – 88 miles per hour. _88 miles per hour is… oh, shit 147 kilometers per hour…_

He looked over at the time computer in horror. It was set for November 4th, 1980. In desperation, Chuck stomped on the brake, but the computer had taken over operations – the car was in terminal mode.

Eyes wide in terror, Chuck watched as the approaching Hummer appeared to fold in half, leaving sheer blackness where it had been. The DeLorean zoomed into the blackness –

And there was nothing.

* * *

**CAST:**  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
General Beckman – Bonita Fredericy  
Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Roan Montgomery – John Larroquette  
Sara Jean Underwood – herself  
Dr. Emmett Brown – Martin Sheen  
Cole Barker – Jonathan Cake


	2. Back In Time

_In a brilliant flash of light, the DeLorean disappeared, leaving tracks of flame stretching across the parking lot. With nothing between them, the Hummers crashed into one another head-on, Cole's going airborne over the other. The second Hummer spun to a halt, its front end crushed; Cole's Hummer flipped over and landed on its roof. Both were still and quiet._

_John Casey looked in disbelief at the trails of flame, and then down at Sarah Walker. "Casey…" she whispered._

"_I'm sorry, Walker," he replied, fighting back tears. There was no way they'd get her to a hospital in time. She was bleeding so fast that there was already a puddle forming under her._

"_Where's Chuck?" she asked, blood spotting her lips. "I need Chuck…"_

_Casey looked up at the sky, choking down a sob. "He'll be here in a minute," the tough NSA agent whispered. "I hope…"_

* * *

As quickly as the DeLorean had disappeared into blackness, it suddenly reappeared again. It was still dark out. Chuck was in the same place as before – the San Diego Sports Arena to his right. The parking lot, though – the parking lot was empty. The Fulcrum Hummers were gone. Dr. Brown's U-Haul was gone. Casey's Crown Vic was gone. In fact, the only thing in the parking lot –

Was the tour bus directly in front of Chuck. The tour bus that said "San Diego Clippers Professional Basketball Club" on the side. The tour bus that Chuck was heading toward at a decreasing but still quite alarmingly rapid velocity.

"BUS!" Chuck shouted. He cranked the wheel to the left and stomped on the brakes – but to no avail. The DeLorean slid across the parking lot, slamming sideways into the bus at nearly forty miles per hour.

And everything went black again.

* * *

_tap tap tap tap tap_

"Not now, Morgan…"

_tap tap tap tap tap_

"Seriously, Morgan, go away."

_tap tap tap tap tap_

"Casey, if that's you out there, I'm going to hurt you…"

Chuck Bartowski forced his eyes open. He hurt everywhere. His vision was blurry. The last thing he remembered was the giant red and blue Clippers logo rushing toward him at an alarming rate of speed.

_tap tap tap tap tap_

Chuck looked to his left, to the source of the tapping. Somebody was tapping on the driver's window of the DeLorean… a blonde, female somebody.

Chuck rubbed his eyes. His vision was still blurry – but there was no mistaking her. The shape of her face, the color of her hair…

Looking over at the console, Chuck realized that even though the engine had died, the DeLorean's electrical power was still on. So, hope swelling in his chest, he reached out for the window button, and rolled down the driver's window.

"Sarah?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"No, I'm sorry," she said. "Sir, are you alright?"

The voice… it was almost Sarah's voice, but it wasn't quite right. Chuck rubbed his eyes again, clearing his vision…

The woman looked SO much like Sarah – the blonde hair, the blue eyes, the shape of her face – but the facial features weren't **quite** right, and the voice was just a little off. The hope Chuck had been feeling faded quickly.

"Yeah, I think so," he replied, switching off the DeLorean and unbuckling his seatbelt. Pushing open the door, he stepped out, wincing as he did so.

"Sir, I really think you should sit down," the woman said.

Chuck nodded. "I agree," he replied, slowly sinking down to the ground against the DeLorean. He looked around for clues – he was still in the back parking lot of the San Diego Sports Arena, and parked close by was an old, 1970s style ambulance that had _SAN DIEGO FIRE DEPARTMENT_ painted on the side.

"Who are you?" he asked the woman as she reached into her pocket for a penlight.

By way of reply, she reached out and held Chuck's left eye open. "My name's Rebecca Franco," she replied, shining the penlight into his pupil. "Dilation's good," she mused. "I'm a paramedic with the San Diego Fire Department. You're lucky – I happened to be driving by, I just happened to look over, and I saw your car crash as I did so."

She checked Chuck's other eye. "Well, you don't appear to have a concussion, but you do seem a little disoriented," she said. "Do you know where you are?"

"Uh, I'm behind the San Diego Sports Arena."

"Okay, that's good," Rebecca replied. "Do you know what day it is?"

_Oh, crap. What day did Dr. Brown say? What day was on the time computers?_ "Uh… I'm not sure."

Rebecca frowned. "Do you know who the President is?"

_What did Casey say about the day? "God bless America?" It's gotta be Reagan…_ "Ronald Reagan?"

"Well, not quite," Rebecca said, the frown melting into a smile. "He just got elected tonight. Only reason I'm still on duty – the captain's afraid that Reagan and Carter supporters are gonna go after each other down at Mission Beach."

_Election Day. First Tuesday in November… 1980…_ "Okay, then it must be November 4th."

Rebecca nodded. "Yep. Okay, I'm feeling a little better about you then, but I would kind of like to take you to the hospital and get you checked out."

"No, no, no," Chuck replied, trying to get to his feet. "Oh, that's a bad idea."

Rebecca gave him a curious look. "Uh, are you in trouble with the law or something?"

Chuck shook his head. "No… well, I mean, I might be if a cop finds me here with my car in the side of this bus… but, no… it's just that it would be a bad idea for me to wind up in a hospital. They'll start digging, and, uh, there's things that I need for the authorities to not find."

"What?" A confused and slightly scared look on her face, Rebecca started backing away from Chuck. "Who are you?"

_Uh-oh. Must defuse situation before it gets ugly_. "Uh, my name is Chu… Charles," Chuck replied. "Charles Carmichael, and I'm with the CIA. I'm a secret agent."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Suuuure…"

"No, seriously!" Chuck said. Pulling his wallet out of his pocket, he dug out the old Charles Carmichael ID that Casey had made sure he had over a year before. Careful to cover his birthdate, he showed the card to Rebecca. "This is my official federal agent identification."

Rebecca stepped in to look at it more closely, shining her penlight on it. "Well… I guess it **looks** legit…" She still sounded unconvinced.

"I'm not kidding," Chuck insisted, starting to feel desperate. _Don't fail me now, Intersect_, he thought, closing his eyes and thinking NOVEMBER 4th as hard as he could.

_4 November 1980: Libyan forces invade Chad in continuation of the Libya-Chad conflict_

Chuck's eyes popped back open. "Libyan forces invaded the African country of Chad earlier today," he said. "It won't hit the news wires here until early tomorrow morning. Ask yourself how I would know that unless I was an intelligence agent."

Rebecca narrowed her eyes. "Okay, Mr… Agent Carmichael?"

"You can call me Chuck," he replied.

"Alright, Chuck," Rebecca said. "So, you're a CIA agent. You still crashed your car into a tour bus. That's going to have to be explained somehow. On top of that, somebody has to check you out medically."

She frowned and crossed her arms. "For some reason, though, I feel like I should trust you. Have we ever met before?"

Chuck shook his head. "You look a lot like somebody I know," he said, "but I'm pretty sure we've never met before."

Rebecca sighed, and was silent for a moment. "Okay," she finally said. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but I'm going to take you back to my house and personally examine you. I would never do this for anybody, but like I said, I feel like I should trust you."

"Thank you," Chuck said, relief flooding his body. "I really appreciate this."

"Don't mention it," Rebecca replied. "But, what about your car?"

Chuck shook his head. "I'm going to have to take my chances with the San Diego police impounding it," he said wearily.

Rebecca frowned. "That doesn't make sense," she said. "Not for a sports car like that. Isn't there somebody with the CIA you can call to get it?"

"I'm not supposed to be here," Chuck replied. "I'm technically not even supposed to be operating in the United States, but here I am."

Rebecca put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You're not making this easy to keep from the police, Chuck," she said – and then her face lit up. "Wait a second, I have an idea!"

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

But Rebecca had already taken off running for the ambulance. Chuck tried to go after her, but found that he could barely walk without passing out, let alone run. By the time he reached the ambulance, Rebecca had pulled out the radio and was calling somebody.

"This is Nightingale Four to base, base please come in," she was saying.

"_Base to Nightingale Four, go ahead._"

"Base, please switch to discreet channel Kenobi," Rebecca said, and then reached in to change the channel on her radio.

"_Alright, Rebecca, what the heck is going on?_" the voice from the other end said.

"Linda, listen carefully. I need you to call Tommy and get him out to the San Diego Sports Arena with his tow truck."

"_What? Rebecca… what's going on? Is something wrong with your ambulance? Why aren't you just calling city services?_"

"Linda, I need an independent tow truck for this, not city services."

"_Rebecca, I don't know…_"

"Linda, you can consider this repayment for me not telling anybody about your… activities… with that Padres minor-leaguer."

"_Who, Tony Gwy- oh, shit. Okay. Fine. I'll call him._"

The radio went dead. "Okay, Chuck!" Rebecca said excitedly as she turned toward him. "I've got a guy who I know who owns a tow truck coming out to pick up your car. You just need to tell me where it needs to go."

Chuck grimaced. "That could be easier said than done…"

* * *

By the time the tow truck arrived, Rebecca had made sure that Chuck was in no immediate danger of dropping dead in the sports arena parking lot. She had also agreed to let him keep the DeLorean in her back yard – "But it's GOT to be gone by the time my husband gets back from Atlanta," she warned him. "Our marriage is already in trouble, and the last thing I need him to think is that I'm cheating on him with some jet-setting CIA agent."

"Absolutely," Chuck promised, looking over at the tow truck. _BALBOA TOWING_, it declared boldly. As the truck came to a stop by the DeLorean, Rebecca started jogging over toward it. Chuck, still unable to move very quickly, was somewhat slower as he walked toward the truck.

"Oh, for the love of God," he heard Rebecca exclaim in disgust as the driver got out of the truck. "Does your father never take responsibility for anything?"

"Sorry, Becks, Pops said I needed to take care of this."

Chuck froze, his eyes going wide at the sound of a teenage voice – one that was most certainly the teenage version of a voice he had unfortunately come to know well. Looking over at the driver, he forced his eyes to focus…

On a much younger Jeff Barnes.

"Oh, my God," Chuck whispered. Then he cocked his head to the side. "Jesus, Jeff, didn't you EVER take care of yourself?"

Jeff might have been thirty years younger, but he was still a slob. "It all becomes clear," Chuck muttered to himself. "No wonder you're still living with your mom."

"So who's this guy?" Jeff asked Rebecca with a belch as Chuck approached. "You bangin' him on the side or something?"

"For Christ's sake, Jeffrey!" Rebecca exclaimed in horror. "No! I just met him!"

"Right," Jeff muttered. "You say so, Ms. Franco."

Rebecca huffed in frustration. "Just, get the car loaded and take it to my house, okay?"

Jeff grinned sickeningly. "Heh, that's what I thought."

"One more word…" Rebecca narrowed her eyes. "One more word and I will stick an enema where you cannot reach it."

"Alright," Jeff replied with a shrug. "If that's your thing…"

Chuck couldn't stand it any longer, and he so he decided to do something he had wanted to do for years. Grabbing Jeff's arm, he flipped him around and slammed him against the side of the truck. "Listen to me very carefully, Jeffrey," he growled. "Hook up the car, and take it where the lady told you. Deviate from those instructions, and you will regret it."

Jeff had turned a strange shade somewhere between white and yellow. "Okay, okay," he whined. "Jeez, dude, I wasn't serious."

"Shut up and do as I said," Chuck snapped. _Damn, that felt good…_

Ten minutes later, Chuck was riding shotgun in Rebecca's ambulance, as they drove east toward San Diego State, Jeff following them in the tow truck. Rebecca had a smile on her face, as she had ever since Chuck had thrown Jeff against the truck.

"You know, you're kinda cute," she told Chuck. "Sorry. I had to say it."

_Oh dear. This is not good_.

"I really liked the way you didn't take any crap from that Barnes punk, too," Rebecca went on. "It's nice to see a man who's actually willing to stand up for a woman."

_I have to defuse this right now._ "Trust me, Rebecca," he replied, "I'm really not the kind of guy you think I am. I… come with a lot of baggage."

"Well," she said, "maybe you just need a baggage handler."

_Breathe, Chuck. Just breathe_. "Um… I thought you said you were married."

Instantly, the happy look faded from Rebecca's face. "I am," she said quietly. "But my husband… he's not exactly the best person in the world. I don't want to call him a con man, but… he's a con man. And I'm starting to worry that our marriage is just the ultimate con for him."

Chuck closed his eyes. _Good one, Chuck. Open mouth, remove foot_. "I'm sorry," he offered.

"It's okay," Rebecca muttered, but she didn't speak again after that.

The rest of the drive to Rebecca's house off of El Cajon Blvd. was spent in awkward silence. When they finally pulled into the driveway, she handed her keys to Chuck. "You can let yourself in," she told him. "I have to go next door and pick up my daughter from the neighbors."

_DAUGHTER?_ _Wait a second… her looks… con-man husband… daughter…_

_No, it can't be. There's no way. No way at all._

Chuck dismissed the thought from his mind and headed for the front door as Jeff backed the tow truck into the driveway. He opened the door and went inside as the tow truck's winch began to whine, lowering the wrecked DeLorean into the driveway.

Chuck was sitting in the living room, staring off into space, when Rebecca entered the house, a little girl of no more than six or seven months in her arms. "Jeff's got your car unloaded," she told Chuck. "But remember, you have to get it out of here by Saturday."

"I've been thinking about that," Chuck replied, "and I think I've got somebody. Do you have a, uh, a phone book around here?"

"Yeah," Rebecca said. "It's in the kitchen. I'll go get it – but, can you hold her for a second?"

She held the little girl out to Chuck. "Oh, sure," Chuck said, standing taking the baby from her.

"Thanks." Rebecca walked out of the living room, headed for – Chuck assumed – the kitchen.

Chuck sat back down, and looked at the little girl. Blonde hair and blue eyes, alright. _But lots of babies have those_, Chuck told himself. The little girl smiled and gurgled at him, and Chuck couldn't help but smile back.

"Hey, look at that," he heard Rebecca say as she came back into the room. "She likes you. She usually doesn't like strange men."

"I am definitely a strange man," Chuck muttered. "What's her name?"

"We call her Sam," Rebecca replied – and Chuck's heart stopped.

_SAM._

"She's named after my husband's mother," Rebecca continued. "Samantha Lisa Delacroix. Sam for short."

Eyes wide, Chuck looked from the little girl to her mother and back. _Oh my God. I'm holding Sarah Walker._

"Uh… that's a, that's a nice name," Chuck stammered. "Do you have the phone book?"

"Indeed I do," Rebecca said. "I'll trade you?"

Hands trembling, Chuck handed Sarah – _no, not Sarah, Sam – oh, crap. The baby_ – off to Rebecca, and took the phone book from her. Heart racing, he looked away from Rebecca and Sarah – _SAM_ – and opened the phone book, looking for the "Brown"s.

_Brown, Earl… Brown, Edward… Brown, Emmett. 10170 Gayube Ln., San Diego_.

"Gayube Lane," Chuck said, trying to keep his voice calm. "10170 Gayube Ln. Do you know where that is?"

"Uh, sure," Rebecca replied, looking confused. "I think that's just off of Clairemont Mesa Boulevard, east of the 395."

_The what?_ "The 395?"

Rebecca narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, US 395?" she replied. "The Escondido Freeway?"

Chuck frowned. "I thought that was Interstate 15."

"Oh, right," Rebecca laughed, putting a hand to her forehead. "That's right. They just changed it last year. I keep forgetting."

"Right," Chuck replied. "Well, I'm gonna go then." He stood and headed for the front door.

Rebecca stood up and put a hand on his arm. "Chuck, you might be hurt," she said to him. "I haven't checked you out completely yet… and that's almost ten miles from here!" She fixed him with a look of concern. "Your car is broken down in my driveway… how do you plan on getting there from here?"

Chuck just shook his head. "Rebecca, please don't worry about it. I'll be fine. I'll catch a cab or hitch a ride or something."

Rebecca sighed, sounding worried. "Well… okay," she said. "But…"

Turning around, Rebecca grabbed a pen from her coffee table. Shifting Sam to rest in the crook of her arm, Rebecca grabbed Chuck's left hand and started writing on his palm. "That's my phone number," she told him. "If for some reason, you need help, you call me, understand?"

"Uh, yeah… sure," Chuck replied, nodding.

"Just…" Rebecca grimaced. "If a man picks up the phone, that'll be my husband, and then, much as I hate to say it, just hang up, okay?"

"Ooookay," Chuck said slowly. "Listen, I gotta go now, alright?"

And with that, Chuck bolted out the front door and disappeared into the darkness. Rebecca stood in the doorway, watching as he went. Once he was out of sight, she sighed and looked down at her daughter. "He's cute, Sam, don't you think?"

Sam just laughed and clapped her hands.

* * *

Hitching a ride in the middle of the night in San Diego was harder than Chuck had thought. As he trudged north through the campus of San Diego State, his left thumb extended, he began to realize that he hurt. Everywhere. Everything that could possibly hurt did.

Hoping against hope that one of the very few cell towers that existed in 1980 was nearby and would work with his iPhone, Chuck pulled the phone out of his pocket – nope, no service. So much for that idea. No quarters, either, which meant a pay phone was out of the option.

That's when an old Ford Galaxie came roaring around the corner in front of him. Somebody had clearly put in a great deal of wrench time on the vehicle, making it a prime example of 1960s Detroit muscle. The driver saw Chuck, flipped a u-turn, and came to a screeching halt right next to the curb. He leaned over and popped open the shotgun door.

"Hey, where you headed?"

Chuck bent down and looked in the car – to see a teenager with shaggy, unkempt hair, a joint held between his teeth. "Uh… up near Clairemont Mesa," he replied uncertainly.

"Hop in!" the teenager told him. "It'll take you forever to walk there."

_This seems like a very bad idea,_ Chuck thought to himself. "You sure?"

"Absolutely. Have you there in no time."

_Please, God, don't let me die in 1980_, Chuck prayed, climbing into the Galaxie and shutting the door behind him. He reached up for his seatbelt –

"No seatbelts?"

The teenager laughed. "Nah," he replied. "This car was built in 1962. Ford wasn't putting them in yet, and I don't feel like doing it myself."

"Lovely," Chuck muttered, gripping the door handle as hard as he could.

The Galaxie sprinted forward, leaving Chuck's stomach somewhere in the street behind it. _I'm gonna die in a 1962 Ford Galaxie with a deranged teenager from 1980_, he thought to himself. _God help me_.

"You vote tonight?"

Chuck forced himself to look over at the teenager. "What?"

"I said, you vote tonight?" The teenager gave him a sideways glance. "I was gonna vote to re-elect Carter, but at the last minute I ended up changing my mind. Voted for Ronald Reagan."

"Uh… right," Chuck replied. "I, uh, I voted for John Anderson."

The teenager snorted. "You and what, twelve other people?" He shook his head. "Nah, man, Reagan's gonna fuckin' change the world."

"You have no idea," Chuck muttered, and tried to think of something to change the subject. "It looks like you take pretty good care of your car," he said. "It's… uh… shiny."

"You're damn straight it's shiny."

"_You're damn straight it's shiny." _The words echoed in Chuck's head. He had heard them before. He had heard them almost in that voice…

"Casey," he whispered.

"Huh?" the kid asked. Chuck slowly turned his head toward the teenager, and for the first time, took a very good look at him.

_You have got to be kidding me._

"Alex," Chuck breathed. "Your name is Alex Coburn."

The teenager gripped the steering wheel tightly, and a moment later, brought the Galaxie to a stop. "How the hell do you know that, pal?" he asked, looking over at Chuck.

"I, uh, I think I met you somewhere before. Like at a wedding or something."

Alex narrowed his eyes. "Captain Beckman's wedding?"

BECKMAN? "Uh, yeah. Right," Chuck replied. "Sorry, I guess I'd think of her as, uh, Dianne."

Alex snorted. "I tell you what, pal, if I called my ROTC instructor Dianne, I would rapidly become a dead man."

_She's an ROTC instructor? Wait a second… but Casey was recruited by the Ring and that's ten years from now. Wouldn't Beckman have known?_

Chuck made a mental note to ask Casey when he got home. Meanwhile, Alex had started driving again. "That was a hell of a wedding, too," he said. "All the brass were there… I've never been so intimidated in my life."

In spite of himself, Chuck grinned. "It's a good life lesson for you, Alex. If you're gonna be a Marine, you have to learn how to be intimidating."

Alex looked over at him strangely. "I'm not gonna be a Marine," he said. "I'm Air Force ROTC."

_Oh, crap_. Chuck shrugged and laughed nervously. "Maybe you should consider switching."

The teenager frowned. "You think I'd make a good Marine?"

"Of course," Chuck replied. "Why not?"

Alex sighed. "My dad was a Marine," he replied. "Every time I even mention it, he says I'd make a terrible Marine."

_Wait a second_, Chuck thought. _Casey has daddy issues?_ Something else useful to know.

"All the more reason to do it," Chuck told him. "Prove him wrong."

"Huh," Alex grunted. _Grunt number 9_, Chuck immediately thought to himself. _Pensive and thoughtful_.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, as Alex had clearly started thinking about what Chuck had said. A few minutes later, they reached Gayube Lane.

"Thanks for the lift," Chuck said as the Galaxie rolled to a stop next to the curb.

"No problem," Alex replied. "And hey, man, thanks for the advice. I might have to think about this, Mr…"

"Carmichael," Chuck said automatically. "Charles Carmichael."

"Yeah, thanks, Mr. Carmichael!"

"Anytime." Chuck pushed the door shut behind him and waved as Casey – _ALEX_ – pulled away from the curb and turned around. He shook his head and laughed as he approached the house. "I can't believe Casey has daddy issues."

Looking up at the house, Chuck sighed. "I sure hope this is the right place," he muttered to himself as he reached the front door. Reaching out, he pushed the doorbell.

A minute later, he pushed it again.

And another minute later, he went to push it yet again –

Only to hear the ratchet of a pump shotgun to his right. Slowly, Chuck put his hands in the air and turned in the direction of the sound. "I'm not here to hurt anybody – Jesus, God in heaven."

Roan Montgomery stepped onto the porch, shotgun aimed at Chuck. "I don't know who you are, pal, but you have approximately thirty seconds to explain why you're here."

"I'm here about Project Kali –"

Before Chuck could react, Roan swung the shotgun around, the butt end catching Chuck in the chin and sending him sprawling backward to the ground. As Chuck's consciousness faded, the last thing he heard was Roan's voice. "Wrong answer."

* * *

When Chuck came to, he hurt even worse than he had before. His head was now throbbing – and he was tied to something. _Why the hell am I tied to something?_

"He's awake!"

That was definitely the voice of Dr. Emmett Brown, somewhere to Chuck's left. He tried to turn his head to look that direction – only to discover that his head was also somehow restrained.

Roan came into the room, a smaller – but no less lethal looking – gun in hand. "Alright, I don't know who the hell you are, but you better start explaining, right the fuck now," he growled. "Start with the part where you know the code name for a delta classified project."

Chuck sighed. "You aren't gonna believe me."

Roan narrowed his eyes. "Try me."

"Alright," Chuck said. "My name is Chuck Bar… er, Carmichael. I'm an agent with the Central Intelligence Agency. I'm here because of Project Kali. I know that you are Agent Aeon, and the guy over there is Agent Kronos."

"And you sound like a goddamn KGB spy," Roan said. "I need more, otherwise Kronos here is gonna be cleaning your brains off his carpet."

"I'd really rather not do that, Aeon," Dr. Brown whined.

"Shut up. I'm interrogating this scumbag."

"Okay, I'd really rather not get my brains blown out," Chuck told them. "Look, six hours ago, it was June 9th, 2010 – at least, that's what it was for me."

And with that statement, Roan Montgomery froze. "Wait… what?"

"I came back in time," Chuck told him. "I came back in time in the time machine that was built by Project Kali. Unfortunately, when I got here, it was badly damaged, and I need your help to get back."

As he said that, a much younger-looking Dr. Brown moved into Chuck's field of vision, an incredulous look on his face. "It actually WORKS?"

"Yeah," Chuck replied. "It takes you nearly thirty years, though – the night I came back was the first night you ever successfully tested it."

Brown frowned. "But why would you be sent back to tonight?"

Chuck sighed. "Because you yourself told us that this was the day when you had the inspiration. I don't know what you were doing, but at some point today, you came up with the capacitor to channel the quantum flux required to cross the time continuum."

Brown's eyes had gone wide. "The flux capacitor," he breathed. "Reagan had just been declared the winner of the election, I jumped out of my chair, slipped, and smacked my head on the coffee table. When I came to, I knew how to create the flux capacitor."

He turned to Roan. "That's when I called you, Agent Aeon. I needed you to come over so I could show this to you."

Roan looked from Chuck to Brown and back again. "I don't know," he said uncertainly. "I mean, it's all well and good for you to say you're from the future… but you gotta prove it. Who's the president in 2010?"

"Barack Obama," Chuck replied.

Roan frowned. "Who?"

Chuck sighed. "He's an African-American community organizer from Ill-"

Roan stopped him. "We have a black president thirty years from now?"

"Yeah…"

"Riiight," Roan replied with a laugh. "Look, pal, I'm progressive and all, but bullshit."

"No, I'm serious!" Chuck insisted.

"Okay," Roan said, still laughing. "Who won the NBA title?"

"Finals aren't over yet," Chuck shot back. "But right now, the Lakers have a two games to one lead on the Celtics."

Roan raised an eyebrow. "Okay, that one I actually could imagine. One more question – who's the premier of the Soviet Union?"

Chuck shook his head. "Soviet Union broke up in 1991," he said. "Dmitri Medvyedev is the president of Russia."

"Okay, no," Roan said. "There's no way the Soviet Union's gone ten years from now. You've got to be full of shit."

Roan lifted the gun and aimed it at Chuck. "No!" Chuck shouted. "No, wait! ORION! Call Orion!"

And that was the magic word. Roan froze, the gun still aimed at Chuck. "The only two people who call him that are the two of us," he said slowly. "Not even a KGB spy would know that code name."

"Call him," Chuck insisted. "Tell him that you're with somebody from the future… and that that person represents the successful implementation of Project Omaha."

Roan kept a suspicious look on Chuck, but he nonetheless set the gun down and moved to the telephone. Picking it up, he dialed a number.

"This is Aeon, secure, for Orion," he said a moment later. "Yeah, I've got this guy in Kronos' living room who claims he's from the future. Says he came back in the time machine developed by Project Kali."

Roan was silent for a moment. "Yes, sir. Also, he says he's the successful implementation of Project Omaha."

Roan was silent for another moment, and then raised an eyebrow. "Yes, sir. Will do."

He hung up the phone, and turned to Chuck. "Apparently, you've piqued Orion's interest, Carmichael. He'll be here in twenty minutes."

Chuck's eyes went wide. He was still restrained, still in a room with a CIA agent who didn't trust him, but he could think only one thing.

_DAD._

* * *

John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Rebecca Franco – Anna Torv  
young Jeff Barnes – Aaron Johnson  
Alex Coburn – Sterling Jones  
young Roan Montgomery – Chris Pine  
young Emmett Brown – Charlie Sheen


	3. Parents Weekend

Room 1303 of the San Diego Holiday Inn wasn't ordinarily used for covert surveillance. And even when it was, it was usually under the direction of the FBI, the San Diego Police, or the San Diego County Sheriff.

But on this particular evening, Room 1303 was manned by two agents of the Central Intelligence Agency. Each of them had their own special skill – he was the tech guru; she was the super-spy operative. And neither of them was particularly happy to be out and about on that evening.

It must be understood – these two were a married couple. Very happily married, in fact. Very happily married with a two year old and a six week old at home in Los Angeles, being watched by Ted Roark's fourteen year old daughter.

And that was what made neither of them particularly happy.

"We should be home with Ellie and Chuck," Mary Bartowski groused for probably the fifth time that night. "Instead, here we are, keeping an eye on Alexei Volkoff as he makes his way through the local chapter of the Volkoff Industries Groupie Club."

Stephen Bartowski grinned and just shook his head, not taking his eyes off of the Apple II set up in front of him. It was hooked up to an enormous antenna array mounted within the trailer of an eighteen-wheeler parked in the hotel parking lot – an eighteen-wheeler which wouldn't draw any untoward attention, being one of five or six in the parking lot.

The hookup had been a bit of a problem; fortunately, the Holiday Inn was wired for cable – WE HAVE HBO, their advertisements boldly proclaimed – and so it was just a matter of figuring out which cable line was the one for room 1303, and rigging a coaxial cable to the antenna. The other end came out of the room's cable outlet, and plugged into a device attached to one of the expansion slots on the computer's motherboard.

The program and the antenna served two functions – number one, it allowed them to listen to ANYTHING going on in Volkoff's room, no matter how quiet – that meant conversations, phone calls, even radio signals into and out of the room. Secondly, it allowed Stephen to have a phone with him at all times, with the same number. It wasn't as portable as one of those newer cellular phones that fit in its own briefcase, but it was much, MUCH more reliable.

The antenna, the phone, the device it hooked into, and the program had all been designed by the Southern Pacific Railroad Intelligent Network of Telecommunications – a phone company who Stephen had been dealing with for several years, and whose name Stephen thought was much too long and unwieldy. "Don't worry," he had been told about a month beforehand by an executive. "We're rolling out a new branding campaign. Shorter name, nice easy acronym."

"What's it going to be?" Stephen had asked.

"Just our initials," the executive replied. "S.P.R.I.N.T."

_Sprint's a stupid name for a telephone company_, Stephen thought to himself as he continued to watch the analysis of the audio signals coming from Volkoff's room. There wasn't really much to see there, but considering they matched the patterns that always emerged when Volkoff was... entertaining... a lady friend, Stephen thought himself fortunate that he couldn't actually hear what was going on.

"I'm sure the kids are fine," he assured his wife. "Kathy's a good kid. Besides, I've known her since she was a little kid. She's reliable."

"At least she's not like her father," Mary grumbled. "I don't blame her for going by her mother's maiden name."

At that point, Stephen actually looked away from his computer. "Hey, I don't think it's got anything to do with the kind of person Ted is," he said in defense of his friend. "He's just got a remarkably recognizable last name. Seriously, if you were in high school, don't you think you'd rather be Kathleen McHugh than Kathleen Roark? Lot easier to fly under the radar that way."

"If you say so," Mary replied. "I just don't trust Ted, that's all. I don't like the way he jokes about taking credit for all your work, and I really don't like the way he looks at me."

THAT caught Stephen off guard. "Wait a second," he said, now turning fully away from the computer. "Are you saying that Ted... has he ever tried to make a move on you?"

"No, he hasn't," Mary answered. "And it's really for the best if he doesn't, because if he does, it'll be his last."

With that, Stephen relaxed a little bit, allowing a grin to appear on his face. "Yeah, I guess he doesn't realize he's playing with fire, does he?"

Mary smiled back. "Not just fire, but a big, bad CIA operative."

Stephen left his chair and moved to sit next to Mary on the bed. "Big bad CIA operative who's all mine, I might add," he said, moving a hand around Mary's waist and bending to kiss her on the neck.

She shuddered. "Big bad CIA operative who's going to melt into goo if you keep doing that," she breathed. "Keep doing that..."

"Gladly," Stephen murmured, as he reached his left hand up to start unzipping the back of Mary's blouse. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"

"I might have been pregnant," she whispered as his kisses moved lower as more flesh was exposed. "Makes things... difficult..."

But just as Stephen was about to reach the point of no return, a harsh trilling sound reached their ears. "Oh, no," Stephen groaned. "Goddammit."

"No, ignore it," Mary whined. "Please..."

"I can't," Stephen grumbed. "That might be Graham."

Standing up from the bed, Stephen stomped across the room, cursing as he went. Ripping the radio phone out of its cradle, he glared at it for a moment, then put it to his ear. "Station four, secure," he barked.

Almost immediately, his eyes went wide. "Yes, this is Orion." He was quiet for a moment. "Project Kali? That's impossible. Are you sure that's what he said?"

Stephen furrowed his brow, and then something else was said that almost made him drop the phone. "OMAHA?" He turned to look at Mary, the look of disbelief on his face matched by the one on her own.

_Project Omaha_? she thought to herself. The only four people on the earth who knew about that were the two Bartowskis, Ted Roark, and Langston Graham. Mary had no idea what Project Kali was, but if something seemingly impossible had occurred as a result of that project, then she figured it feasible that perhaps something had occurred from Omaha as well.

"Keep him there," Stephen said, his voice sounding stunned. "Don't let him move. If he has to go to the bathroom, you go with him. He does not leave your sight, and I'll be there in twenty minutes. Is that perfectly clear?"

Stephen gently replaced the radio phone in his cradle, and looked over at his wife in stunned disbelief. "Aeon and Kronos have captured somebody who claims he's the successful implementation of Projects Kali and Omaha."

"I understand Omaha," Mary replied, "and I definitely understand why you look like you've seen a dead person. That's unbelievable. But what's Kali..."

And that's when Mary remembered her world religious icons class at Princeton. Kali was the Hindu goddess of time. And somebody who was the successful implementation of Project Omaha...

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Kali's a time travel project, isn't it? This guy is from the future!"

Stephen was shocked for the briefest of moments, but then he smiled. "See, that's part of why I love you," he said. "You're so damn smart, it's not even funny."

Mary smiled back and shrugged. "_Summa cum laude_ at Princeton, remember?"

Sitting back down on the bed next to her, Stephen looked at his wife, clearly not recovered from what had been going on before the phone call. "I'll make you _cum laude_," he growled, his grin turning cheeky.

"Oh, you're TERRIBLE," Mary laughed, scooting away from him. "Besides which, you told your agents you'd be there in twenty minutes -"

"And it only takes fifteen minutes to get to Clairemont Mesa at this time of night," Stephen replied, his grin morphing again, from cheeky to devilish. "I figure after as long as we've gone, five minutes is all we need."

"Well, uh, I just don't, uh, know," Mary said, somewhat distracted by Stephen's right hand, which had magically started working its way up her leg. "This might not be the be – OOOOOOOkay."

* * *

Roan Montgomery had untied Chuck, apparently convinced that he wasn't a threat after all. "But don't try anything funny," the agent had warned.

Emmett Brown, on the other hand, had been intrigued by Chuck's description of the future. "So there are no flying cars," he said, "but that little device you have there..."

"An iPhone," Chuck said.

"That iPhone is made by Apple Computer, and is more powerful than anything on the market right now?"

"Right now?" Chuck asked with a laugh. "The iPhone is more powerful than any computer on the market in 2000, let alone right now. In fact, I would dare say that every Apple II in Cupertino right now put together wouldn't equal the computing power of one iPhone."

"And it takes pictures, too," Brown said, looking through the gallery. "Remarkable. Although, this picture... leaves something to be desired."

Chuck frowned and took the phone from Brown. It was the picture of him and Sarah, dressed up as Leia and Han Solo, the year they actually HAD gone to Comic-Con dressed that way. "What do you mean, it leaves something to be desired?"

"I mean, somehow, your girlfriend's right hand has been removed," Brown said. "It seems her arm continues up to the bracelet on her wrist, but then simply ends."

Chuck looked more closely at the picture. Sure enough, Sarah's right hand was gone. "I don't understand," Chuck muttered. "Her hand should still be there. This is a digital image, and she's got her right hand. This makes no sense."

And then he stopped and thought about it for a moment. _This is _Back to the Future_ all over again,_ Chuck realized. "Oh, God," he said. "Dr. Brown, is it possible that if I interacted with somebody from this time period, it could theoretically have interfered with my timeline?"

Brown didn't answer, instead standing and slowly backing away from Chuck, a look of distrust appearing on his face. "What?" Chuck asked, confused. "Is it something I said?" He put a hand to his mouth, and sniffed his breath. _Ew, rank_, he thought. _I need an Altoid_. "Sorry about my breath... I haven't had the chance to brush my teeth..."

"My name," Brown said softly. "How the hell did you know my name?"

"Ohhhh, right," Chuck replied. "Yeah, I know you in the future, and not just as Agent Kronos. I actually know that you are Emmett Brown, University of New Mexico class of 1969, master's degree at M.I.T. in 1972, Ph.D in theoretical physics from Johns Hopkins in 1977." Then Chuck frowned. "But, my question?"

"Right," Brown said, still looking shaken. "You could, theoretically, interfere with your timeline if you interacted with people in this era, yes, but I'm pretty certain that they would have to be people directly tied to your life somehow."

"Uh... well..."

Brown looked at Chuck, and then sighed. "What did you do?" he asked, his voice deflating.

"I may have held my infant future girlfriend this evening at one point," Chuck said uneasily.

"Well..." Brown narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Infant? How old?"

"It's November... her birthday's in late April... six and a half months?"

Brown shook his head. "That shouldn't make any difference," he said. "However... how did you come to be holding her?"

"I was at her parents' house," Chuck replied. "That's actually where the time machine is parked."

"Ah-ha," Brown mused. "And how did that come to be?"

"I crashed the time machine into a parked bus when I came out of the temporal wake," Chuck explained. "Her mother is a paramedic who just happened to find me."

When Chuck said "her mother", Brown's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "Her mother," Brown echoed insistently. "You interacted with her mother?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Did she say anything troubling to you?"

Chuck thought about it. His headache was starting to come back, and it was making it difficult to think. "Um... well... she said that she found me attractive, which I guess, in retrospect, is a little weird -"

"That has to be it," Brown mused. "I mean, obviously, your girlfriend's already born... but something has happened... somehow, that discussion with her mother has triggered a cascade of events whereby she somehow never becomes your girlfriend... possibly never meets you -"

"Doctor Brown, that's not good," Chuck interrupted. "I have to meet Sarah."

"Well, Agent Carmichael, you're going to have to figure out what you did then, and undo it," Dr. Brown told him. "But in reality, you haven't interfered with your own timeline yet -"

"Yes I have," Chuck said, a note of urgency to his voice. "On the night of my first date with Sarah, she saved me from being shot and killed. Since then, she has probably saved my life at least a dozen times."

Brown froze in the middle of inhaling. "Oh, I see," he breathed out slowly. "Am I to assume that your girlfriend is also an agent?"

"Yeah."

"Then this could be a very serious problem," Brown said quietly. "We're going to need to figure out what -"

That was when there was a knock at the door. "That'll be Orion!" Montgomery called, coming out of the kitchen and crossing to the front door. He pulled it open -

Chuck looked toward the front door, unbidden. _DAD_, his mind screamed, but then -

_MOM?_

"Mo... mo..."

Suddenly, Chuck's mouth wouldn't work quite right – _which is probably for the best, dumbass!_ his mind screamed at him. "Mo...ary Bartowski!" he said loudly. "And Stephen Bartowski!"

Immediately, Stephen frowned. "Well, thanks a lot, jackass," he grumbled. "Way to completely blow our covers. Up until now, these two only knew us as Orion and Frost."

"Aw, crap," Chuck said, holding his hands to his head. "Uh, I'm sorry... it's just... I, uh, know both of you in the future."

Mary also frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "How?" she asked suspiciously. "From the Company?"

"Well, I guess sort of," Chuck said, his mind racing. "But it's more that I, uh, I know your kids."

"Our kids?" Stephen asked.

"Ellie and Chuck," Chuck replied, trying not to trip up. "I know them."

Neither of the Bartowskis looked convinced. "You could've easily found that information out many other ways," Mary said, still sounding suspicious. "And in fact, given that you've been saying that you're part of Project Omaha, I'm beginning to think you're working for the KGB – or worse yet, for Alexei Volkoff -"

And the Intersect went into action. A series of images flashed before Chuck's eyes – dossiers, pictures of weapons, and a very angry looking Russian -

When his eyes refocused, he found Stephen Bartowski staring at him, eyes wide. "Did you... did you just flash?" he asked, a note of wonder in his voice.

"Uh-huh," Chuck replied, nodding slowly. "Alexei Volkoff, Russian arms magnate. Currently being watched as part of Operation Winter Hammer. Well, not currently. Thirty years from now. Right now, he's being watched as part of Operation..."

Chuck's eyes narrowed, and a look of disgust crossed his face as he looked at his parents. "Operation Afternoon Delight." He shook his head. "I'm going to be scarred for life."

"HAH!" Roan Montgomery barked. "I knew the two of you looked like you had just finished having sex! There's no other reason for it to be called that -"

"Aside from the fact that every time Volkoff is here, he finds himself a new and different groupie," Mary said testily. "That's the ONLY reason it's called that."

"And yet, no denial," Montgomery shot back, his voice triumphant.

Stephen turned and gave Montgomery a death glare. "Agent Aeon, shut up right now, or I will feed you to Volkoff's dogs."

"Uh, excuse me," Chuck interrupted, bringing the focus of the eight other eyes in the room back to him. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go throw up."

* * *

Rebecca had just gotten little Sam down for the night, quiet and finally asleep. The house was silent, save for the occasional creaks and pops as the house cooled off from the day.

That young man she had met earlier in the day had certainly been mysterious, hadn't he? "Young man," she laughed. He was, maybe, a year younger than her. But he was a little weird. Crashing a very expensive car into a bus, refusing medical care, claiming to be a secret agent – which, given the car, wasn't entirely implausible – and running away when she told him her daughter's name.

That was the strangest part. He had completely freaked out when she had said the name "Samantha Lisa Delacroix." Had he let her, Rebecca probably would've asked him to not freak out – she had to do it on a regular basis with the people she met in the course of her job.

Of course, he was a very CUTE strange young man. Maybe that's why Sam had been so comfortable with him. He had a kind, happy face, and even when he was freaking out, he still seemed to just... exude... pleasantness.

Not like her husband. Jackson Burt Delacroix. A.K.A. the biggest friggin' mistake Rebecca had ever made in her life.

Okay, maybe he wasn't entirely a mistake. After all, without him, she wouldn't have Sam. But the fact of the matter was, he was a terrible husband, and he wasn't shaping up to be a much better father. He was never around, and every one of his harebrained business schemes ended up falling through.

Like she had told Mr. Carmichael earlier that evening, Rebecca was pretty certain that his schemes were just cons that didn't end up working. So, not only was she married to a con man, but she was married to a BAD con man.

He'd be home within the next couple of days, and just like every other time, he'd pay lip service to trying to find a legitimate job, but before she knew it, he'd be packing up that piece of shit Lincoln he drove to go figure out the next con. And if she was lucky, there would be no call for her to get him out of some sort of trouble.

So deep was Rebecca in her reverie that she didn't notice the phone ringing at first. In fact, it wasn't until the sound woke Sam and she started crying that she noticed the phone ringing. "Oh, shit," she swore, realizing that somehow, she was going to have to get her daughter to fall asleep again.

Grabbing the phone before it could ring anymore, she held it to her ear. "Hello?" she hissed.

"_Uh, is this Rebecca?_"

And almost instantly, as stupid as it was, the anger evaporated. "Agent Carmichael!" she said, a smile crossing her face. "I didn't expect to hear from you so soon!"

"_Yeah_," she heard him say. "_Um, I made contact with my people here in San Diego, and they need to take a look at the car. Is this a bad time to come by?_"

Of course it was a bad time to come by. It was nearly midnight. "Not at all," Rebecca replied, ignoring her better judgment. "Come on by!"

"_Okay, we'll be by soon_," he said. "_Uh, just one problem, though... I... uh, I've forgotten your address._"

Rebecca's smile got a little bigger. "I never gave it to you, Agent Carmichael," she replied, a slightly cheeky tone to her voice. "But you're a CIA agent, aren't you? Shouldn't you be able to figure that out on your own?"

She heard laughter come from the other end of the phone. "_Believe it or not, we're not that all-powerful,_" he said.

"Riiight," Rebecca answered. "Okay, it's 5407 Baja Drive. I'll leave the light on for you, okay?"

* * *

In spite of himself, Chuck smiled on the other end of the call. "Okay, Rebecca," he said. "Sounds good, and we'll see you soon."

As he hung up the phone, he turned to face the other agents – and saw Dr. Brown hanging up another line. "You're an idiot, you know that?" Brown asked him, an incredulous look on his face. "You're worried about interfering with your timeline, and you're flirting with your girlfriend's mother?"

"What?" Chuck objected. "I wasn't flirting – I was just trying to be poli-"

"Oh, please," Brown interrupted. "You were flirting with her. For God's sake, Carmichael, I'm the most socially inept man in San Diego, and I could tell you were flirting with her."

"But – come on," Chuck said, turning and looking at his parents – not that they knew that – for some sort of support.

"Sounded like flirting to me," Mary said. "And if she's your girlfriend's mother? You're a dumbass."

"Thanks for the support," Chuck said dryly, turning to the door. He reached for the doorknob, but found himself jerked backward.

"Not so fast, future-boy," Roan Montgomery grumbled. "I'll take the lead. You'll be behind me and in front of Frost, where you can't cause any trouble. Understood?"

Chuck sighed and shook his head. "Whatever," he grumbled, following Montgomery out the door, to the garage. Montgomery reached in his pocket, withdrew a remote control, and remoted open the garage door, as Brown locked the house up behind them.

Chuck peered curiously into the garage as the door opened, revealing –

A 1977 GMC Vandura?

"Holy crap," he muttered. "Roan Montgomery has the A-Team van."

And with that, he found himself being grabbed by the collar and unceremoniously slammed, face-first, into the grill of said van. "MONTGOMERY!" he heard his father shout behind them.

"How the fuck do you know my name?" Montgomery hissed into his ear, cocking his gun and pressing the muzzle against the back of Chuck's head.

Chuck sighed. "I really have to go through this every time I say a name?" he asked, irritation overriding the fact that he had a gun to his head. "I KNOW you in the future," he said. "I'm a CIA agent, and so are you, remember?"

Montgomery jerked him away from the van and stood him up. "Alright, future-boy, if you know me, then tell me... what is 'The Roan Montgomery'?"

Chuck smiled for a moment, and then his smile fizzled as he remembered his abortive first attempt at said move. _Goddamn Bryce Larkin_, he thought.

Brushing the irrelevant thought from his head, he returned his attention to the agent standing in front of him. "White dinner jacket," he replied. "A bottle of wine – preferably a cabernet – and a single red rose."

And that seemed to convince Montgomery. "Okay," he said. "That's... exactly right." As he lowered his gun, he narrowed his eyes. "But what the hell is the A-Team?"

Chuck thought for a moment. "Right," he said. "Uh, you'll find out in three years."

Montgomery shook his head, and moved around to the driver's door. "Get in," he said, pulling open the door. "Where are we going again?"

"5407, uh, Baja Drive," Chuck said.

Montgomery turned and looked at him blankly, as the other three got into the back of the van. "No idea where that is," Montgomery told him.

Chuck sighed. "And of course, I can't exactly use Google maps," he muttered.

"Map? I've got a map of San Diego in the glove compartment," Montgomery offered.

"Lovely," Chuck muttered, opening the glove compartment. And sure enough, there was a AAA map of San Diego – and it might as well have been an antique, as far as Chuck was concerned.

As Montgomery backed out of the driveway, Chuck unfolded the unwieldy old map. "How do I find a street... oh, index," he muttered. "Baja Drive... coordinates... J-9."

Flipping the map over, he looked for grid square J-9. "Gotta be near San Diego State," he mumbled, as the van started driving down the street. "Um... okay, here we go... take I-15 south," he said to Montgomery.

"Simple enough," the agent replied, slowing down to turn left onto Clairemont Mesa Boulevard. "You must be from around here, Carmichael. You knew where San Diego State was right off the bat."

"Not really," Chuck replied. "I'm from Los Angeles. Grew up in Encino -"

"Really?" he heard Mary say from behind him. _ Shit, shit, shit_, Chuck thought to himself. "I bet we know your family -"

"Which means that Agent Carmichael can't say anything further," Dr. Brown said, to Chuck's relief. "If you know his family, then we can't risk you figuring that out. It could interfere with his timeline, which he has already done more than enough of tonight."

Montgomery looked over at Chuck. "You might want to just be quiet."

"I think that's an excellent idea," Chuck replied.

* * *

The pounding on the door did not make Alexei Volkoff happy. And Alexei Volkoff was not a man you wanted to make unhappy. "Goddammit," he growled, tearing himself away from the attentions of the young woman sitting on the bed next to him. Standing up, he stalked to the door and wrenched it open. "WHAT ON EARTH COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT?" he barked upon seeing his chief of security, Marko Andropov, standing before him.

"Sir, my apologies for interrupting," Andropov replied. "But I believe we have a security breach of sorts."

Volkoff frowned. "Explain."

"During a routine sweep of the parking lot, I stopped to tie my shoe. While bent over, I noticed a coaxial cable running out of a semi truck and into the building."

"I'm sure that's perfectly normal," Volkoff replied with a shrug. "Cable equipment is particularly bulky."

"Yes, sir, I know," Andropov said, "but I decided to check it out anyway. I traced the cable into the building, where I discovered it was not plugged into a distribution hub, but specifically into the jack for one room – room 1303."

"Again, I don't know that I follow," Volkoff told him. "I'm in room 629. We're nowhere near 1303. What could it possibly matter?"

"Well, sir, there are two issues," Andropov sighed. "First of all, please go look out the window and tell me if you see a semi truck parked immediately below this room."

Furrowing his eyebrows, Volkoff turned around and marched to the window. "Alex, what on earth is going on?" the young woman he had abandoned on the bed asked.

Ignoring her, Volkoff ripped open the curtains – and indeed, there, parked on the ground floor some seventy feet below, sat a semi truck. "And I suppose that's the truck that the cable came from?" he called to Andropov as he crossed the room again.

"Yes, sir."

"So, then, Marko, I'm sure you broke into Room 1303. Who exactly is in there?"

Andropov sighed. The answer was not going to make Mr. Volkoff very happy. "Sir... you have to promise me you aren't going to get angry."

"I promise nothing," Volkoff shot back, "except that I'm absolutely going to get angry if you don't answer my question!"

Andropov took a breath. "Orion and Frost."

Volkoff's eyes went wide, and his face turned bright red. "GODDAMMIT!" he roared. Reaching out to the nightstand, he grabbed his gun, cocked it and pointed it at Andropov's head, ready to blow his clearly ineffectual security chief into the nether -

"ALEX!"

The young woman behind him screamed, breaking his concentration. Volkoff considered the gun in his hand, and then lowered it, noting with no small amount of amusement the wet spot on the front of Andropov's pants. "I would suggest you track them down," Volkoff said calmly to his chief of security. "And Marko?"

"Y-y-yes, sir?"

"For God's sake, change your pants."

* * *

"There it is," Chuck said, pointing to Rebecca Franco's house on the south side of the street. "5407."

"Roger that," Montgomery replied, pulling the Vandura to the curb. "I take it that the wreck in the side yard is your time machine?"

"Uh, yeah," Chuck replied. "What's left of it."

"Well done, Agent Carmichael," Montgomery replied sarcastically. "Good to see that you twenty-first century agents take such good care of Company property."

Chuck was about to come back with a rejoinder, but the front door opened. "Ah, there's your friend Ms. Franco," Dr. Brown said.

"I see that," Chuck replied. "And she's not my friend. I barely know her."

"If you say so," Brown replied sarcastically. "If you need something, I'm sure I can provide a way to lower your libido."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to flirt with her."

Fortunately for Chuck, Rebecca Franco didn't look very happy, and it appeared she had a similarly unhappy Sam in her arms. "Hello, Agent Carmichael," she said, an edge to her voice. "She seems to like you, and since your phone call woke her up, you can get her back to sleep. Sound fair?"

"Uh..."

Without waiting for an answer, Rebecca handed Sam off to Chuck and turned to Stephen and Mary Bartowski. "Please tell me you can get this thing out of here by Friday. I told Chuck it had to be gone by the end of the week, because that's when my husband gets home."

"Chuck?" Stephen asked, confused.

"Yeah, Agent Carmichael."

"I honestly thought we were the only people in the world who would name our kid Chuck," Stephen mused.

Mary laughed. "And that's only because we're sadists."

Rebecca looked at Stephen, and then at Mary. "So, how about it? Can you get the car out of here by Friday?"

Meanwhile, Chuck was gently rocking Sam to sleep. "Shhh," he whispered. "Go to sleep, little girl..."

But it was not working at all. "I don't understand," he muttered. "You were fine earlier -"

And then a thought occurred to him. "So I was thinking," he whispered. "If we can get some time off, me from the Buy More and you from the CIA, maybe we can take a vacation together..."

Almost immediately, Sam's crying stopped, and she looked up at him, a smile on her face. "Yeah, you like that idea, huh?" Chuck asked, a smile appearing on his face. "'Course, I have to get back to 2010 first."

Then he remembered. "Oh... oh no." Unbidden, the image of Sarah, shot in the chest, sprang to his mind's eye. He looked back down at Sam's face again – the same golden hair, the same blue eyes –

"Oh, God," he whispered, as tears sprang to his eyes. "No, I have to get back, I have to save you," he said, hugging Sam. "I can't let you die..."

"Chuck!"

He turned around to see Rebecca coming toward him. Seeing the tears in his eyes, she stopped in her tracks. "Are you alright?" she asked, a note of concern to her voice.

"Uh... I don't know," he whispered. "It's just... there's so much..."

"Okay, that's it," Rebecca said. "You are clearly not alright, and I bet you haven't been to a hospital to be checked out, have you?"

"Well, no..."

Rebecca sighed. "Give me Sam, and go inside. Sit down on the couch, and don't move."

Quietly, Chuck acquiesced, walking out of the front yard without a word.

* * *

Dr. Brown pulled his head out of the wrecked DeLorean just in time to see Chuck walk into Rebecca Franco's house, Rebecca right behind him. "This is not good," he said to Montgomery.

"You're telling me," Roan sighed. "If he doesn't start thinking with his big head instead of the little one, we're not going to have anybody to send back in this time machine."

* * *

1980 Stephen Bartowski – Ryan Eggold  
1980 Mary Bartowski – AnnaLynne McCord  
1980 Roan Montgomery – Chris Pine  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
1980 Emmett Brown – Charlie Sheen  
Rebecca Franco – Anna Torv  
1980 Alexei Volkoff – Christian Bale  
Marko Andropov – Enver Gjokaj

* * *

**_Author's note:_** _It seems that sometimes, ten months away from a story can be beneficial. For example, I was able to include Mary Bartowski and Alexei Volkoff. And yeah, neither of them figured into the direction I originally planned to take this story last summer, but hey - stories change.  
In addition, in case you were wondering, Sprint does in fact stand for Southern Pacific Railroad Intelligent Network of Telecommunications.  
Finally, I figured I'd throw in a scene with the elder Bartowskis getting frisky back when they were kids, because you know what? We have scenes with Chuck and Sarah gettin' some all the time, so why not Stephen and Mary? Equal opportunity, and all that... _


	4. All Gone Sideways

_**Author's Note:** Why yes, I am a sick and damaged bastard. Why do you ask?_

* * *

Chuck Bartowski slowly came to wakefulness.

The dim early morning light crept in through the windows, just barely illuminating the bedroom. Chuck couldn't help but smile at the fact that he had woken up this early. There was once a time – when he was at Stanford, and for the five years after – that he would have slept FAR later than this. In fact, Chuck was pretty sure it couldn't even possibly be 6:00 AM yet – not with the light this dim.

But the truth of the matter was, he enjoyed waking up this early these days. He enjoyed looking at the other pillow on the bed and seeing that blonde head of hair, feeling her warm body pressed against his. In fact, Chuck would hazard a guess that those first few minutes, when he was awake, and she wasn't, were the best part of his day.

After a few minutes, he could feel her beginning to stir. Actually, maybe THIS was the best part of his day – getting to wake her up. Moving a little bit closer to her, Chuck gently kissed the back of her neck, eliciting an appreciative "Hmmm" from her.

Encouraged by the response, Chuck continued around, kissing the side of her neck, and then moving up to her jaw. He lifted himself up a little bit, for better access to her cheek -

Without warning, she flipped over, and thrusting herself upward, captured Chuck's lips with her own. His eyes involuntarily closed as he kissed her. And yeah, as much as Chuck appreciated every morning with her, the mornings when this happened were BY FAR the best.

Chuck snaked an arm around behind her, pulling her body as close to his as he could. He could feel her shudder as he continued kissing her, could feel her soft moans into his mouth as she began to writhe against him.

He paused a moment to catch his breath. "Do we have time this morning?" he whispered.

"We should," she answered, her voice catching, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "It's not quite 8:00."

Huh?

It should have been a lot brighter at 8:00 in the morning in June. It was still WAY too dark outside -

Wait a second. The voice. THE VOICE WAS WRONG.

"Oh my fucking God," Chuck whispered, his stomach suddenly convulsing as he came to the horrifying realization.

It was so dark outside because it wasn't June, it was November. November of 1980. And that wasn't Sarah Walker he was kissing.

It was Rebecca Franco.

SARAH'S MOM.

Chuck rocketed out of that bed so quickly he practically broke the sound barrier.

* * *

**The Night Before**

The seven month old girl in Chuck's arms was not a happy camper. She was pissed off at having been woken before, and because her mother had declared it Chuck's fault, she had handed Samantha off to Chuck to get to go back to sleep.

"Shhh," Chuck whispered, rocking her in his arms. "Go to sleep, little girl..."

In response, she screamed, causing Chuck to wince. "I don't understand," he grumbled. "You were fine earlier when I held you."

But wait. Sarah Walker in 1980 was, at her core, the same person as Sarah Walker in 2010, even if she was just an infant. Maybe Chuck just needed to appeal to the right part of her personality.

Chuck grinned. "So," he whispered. "I was thinking, if we can get some time off – me from the Buy More, you from the CIA – maybe we can take a vacation together -"

And it was like turning off a faucet. Samantha stopped crying, and looked up at Chuck, her eyes wide – and then a smile appeared on her face. "Yeah, you like that idea, huh?" Chuck's grin got even bigger as the infant clapped her hands together. "Of course, I have to get back to 2010 first -"

_Sarah Walker punched Cole Barker in the face as hard as she could. The traitorous British agent went down, hard -_

_John Casey and Roan Montgomery both went for their guns, and Sarah turned for hers -_

_The shot rang out, filling the night sky behind the San Diego Sports Arena -_

_A red bloom appeared on Sarah's chest, marring the white hoodie she was wearing -_

_She looked down, with a look of "What the hell just happened" on her face -_

_She collapsed to the pavement -_

"_NOOOOO! SARAH!"_

Chuck's breath caught in his throat as he looked down at the little girl in his arms. The golden hair, the blue eyes – even her smile -

"Oh, God," he whispered. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he angrily blinked them away. "No," he insisted. "I have to get back, I have to save you." He hugged Samantha tightly against his chest. "I can't let you die -"

"Chuck?"

Chuck turned toward the sound of Rebecca Franco's voice, trying to blink the tears out of his eyes, but to no avail. Seeing the tears in his eyes, she froze. "Are you alright?" she asked uncertainly, unable to hide the note of concern that crept into her voice.

"Uh... I don't know," Chuck whispered, shaking his head a little bit. He had an overwhelming urge to tell Rebecca the truth, but... "It's just... there's so much..."

"Okay, that's it," Rebecca said, the note of uncertainty in her voice being replaced by the stern command note of an EMT. "You are clearly not alright. I bet you haven't been to a hospital to be checked out, have you?"

Chuck shook his head again. "Well, no..."

Rebecca sighed and took Samantha from Chuck, who very reluctantly let the little girl go. "Give me Sam, and go inside," she ordered him. "Sit down on the couch and don't move. I'll be in in just a minute."

Without a word, Chuck nodded, then turned and walked from the front yard into the house.

Rebecca watched Chuck go inside, and then turned to the men standing around the wrecked sports car on the side of her property. She realized that they were looking at her. "Hey!" she shouted, walking toward them. "You gonna get that wreck out of my yard, or what?"

Two of the men – government-looking types – looked at Rebecca in frustration, and ignored her. However, the third, a rather geeky type, approached her. "If we can get a tow truck, I can get it out of here right now," he replied.

Rebecca frowned. "Crap."

* * *

Chuck sat on the couch, staring off into space. This had all gone severely sideways.

If only he had stayed out of his father's files. If only he hadn't gone digging. If only he had left well enough alone when he came across the Delta-clearance Project Kali file.

_If you hadn't intercepted Dr. Brown, Fulcrum might have a nuclear bomb now_, a voice in his head reminded him.

But much as the rational part of his brain tried to remind him that what he was doing was the right thing, there was another part of his brain that reminded him that Sarah Walker was dying, even as he sat there, thirty years before the fact.

The thought that the whole situation was like Schroedinger's Cat popped unbidden into Chuck's head. He didn't know if Sarah was alive, if she was dead – in a manner of speaking, she was both all at once.

The door opened, and Chuck looked up – but it wasn't Rebecca coming in the door, like he had expected. It was his mom.

"Agent Carmichael," she said, looking at him.

"Agent Bartowski," he replied.

Mary Bartowski sat down in a chair across the room from Chuck. "Are you alright, Agent Carmichael?"

Chuck was getting a little tired of the question. "Look, Agent Bartowski -"

"Please, call me Mary."

_That'll be the day_, Chuck thought to himself. "I'd prefer to keep some semblance of formality," Chuck replied. "It's, uh, it's kind of the only thing I have left to hold onto right at the moment."

_Good thinking, Chuck._

"Understandable," she replied. "But the question stands."

Chuck sighed. "No, I'm not feeling alright," he said. "I got shot back in time thirty years. I was in a really bad car accident just a few hours ago. And right before I left, I watched my g- uh, my partner get shot right in the chest. I don't know if she's alive or dead."

Mary Bartowski was slightly stunned at the torrent that had poured forth from Chuck. She had indeed caught his slip as he began to say "girlfriend", but she wisely chose to not mention it. "It's understandable, Agent Carmichael," she said. "Have you considered getting some sleep?"

Chuck looked at her and laughed bitterly. "You want me to sleep at a time like this?" he asked, an incredulous note to his voice. "Come on, M- uh, Mary, you know me better than that."

She narrowed her eyes. "I thought you wanted to retain 'some semblance of formality'."

"I changed my mind," Chuck replied, his voice turning to irritation. "Is that a problem?"

"It is," Mary shot back. "And why, exactly, would I know you better than that, Agent Carmichael?"

"Uh -"

"Just how well do I know you in the future?" she asked. "Because you seem to think I know you pretty well."

"Agent Bartowski, I really can't -"

"Your name is CHUCK," she snapped, getting out of her chair. "Am I really supposed to believe that there's another Chuck from Encino who I KNOW besides my -"

"Don't say it," Chuck warned.

"Dammit, Agent Carmichael – which, by the way, I don't think that's your name – if you are who I think you are, you really shouldn't be taking that tone with me."

"Stop it!" Chuck shouted.

"Agent Carmichael, am I your -"

"STOP IT!"

And with that, something went haywire. It might've been the overload of emotions, the confusion, the temporal displacement – but suddenly, the Intersect went berserk. A series of images bombarded Chuck – the pain – the sudden flood of information to his brain – OH GOD, THE PAIN –

Chuck Bartowski slumped over and fell off the couch, unconscious.

* * *

"Chuck..."

Chuck slowly came back to consciousness – and oh, GOD, his head was pounding.

"Chuck, wake up."

"Don't wanna..."

"Chuck, I really need you to open your eyes," the voice said concernedly.

Chuck sighed. "Fine," he grumbled, forcing his eyes open. The light that poured in seemed to burn his retinas, but he made himself keep his eyes open nonetheless. "Is that better?"

Rebecca Franco appeared in his vision, blocking out some of the light. "Yes, because your eyes dilated normally when you opened them," she said, a relieved tone in her voice. "Agent Bartowski asked me to apologize to you for her."

Chuck sat up slowly. "She's not here?"

"No," Rebecca replied. "Everybody except for Agent Montgomery left. He's sleeping outside in his van."

"Oh," Chuck said, starting to get confused. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You're going to sleep in the guest bedroom here, where the trained medical professional can keep an eye on you," Rebecca answered, a stern note entering her voice. "Although Dr. Brown did ask me to tell you to behave." She frowned. "Chuck, why would Dr. Brown be telling you to behave?"

"It's along and overly complicated story," Chuck sighed, shaking his head. "Believe me when I say, you don't want to know."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Yes I do."

"No," Chuck replied. "I can't tell you."

"Oh, yes, you can," Rebecca shot back. "Right now." And that was when she fixed him with THE LOOK. It was a look that Chuck had only ever seen on Sarah Walker's face, but it made perfect sense that she would've gotten it from her mother. And never had the look failed to make Chuck spill his guts.

"I'm from the future."

Rebecca's eyes went wide, and she was silent for a moment. "Wait, what?"

"The year 2010, as a matter of fact."

"Come on," Rebecca whispered. "Bullshit."

Chuck reached in his pocket and withdrew his wallet. Fishing inside, he pulled out his California driver's license. "Here you go," he replied. "Issued May 8th, 2008."

Rebecca's face had begun to lose its color. "But I don't understand," she breathed. "How is this possible?"

Chuck smiled slightly. "Rebecca, think about it for a moment," he said. "The car I have is a DeLorean DMC12. Have you ever heard of it?"

"No..."

"That's because it doesn't go into production till next month. My driver's license says it was issued in 2008. In fact -" Digging back into his pocket, Chuck came out with his iPhone. Turning it on, he handed it over to Rebecca. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

Taking the iPhone, she looked at it in disbelief. "What is this?"

"It's called an iPhone," Chuck said. "It's made by the Apple Computer Company. Plays music, videos, and believe it or not, is an actual phone."

Rebecca looked back up at Chuck - "But... how?"

"When you have eliminated the impossible, that which remains, however improbable, must be the truth," Chuck replied. "Mr. Spock."

"_Star Trek_ Mr. Spock?"

"Exactly," Chuck said, grinning. "Except the movie he says it in doesn't come out until 1991."

* * *

Four hours later, Rebecca was still very much awake. Chuck had told her some impossible things, yet the proof he had shown her was almost irrefutable. The iPhone, especially. The fact that he had _The Empire Strikes Back_ on it... and it was so sharp and clear...

There was no way she could sleep. Not with these thoughts running through her head.

If he was from the future – maybe he knew what happened to her -

_No, Rebecca, don't even_, her mind warned her. _He told you, anything he does to affect the future could have disastrous consequences_.

As these thoughts ran through her head, though, she heard crying – but it wasn't her daughter. No, Sam was sound asleep.

Rebecca rose from the couch and peeked into the guest room. Chuck was asleep – and he seemed to be crying in his sleep. "What on earth..."

"Please," she heard him gasp. "Please, don't go... you can't leave me."

Entering the room, Rebecca sat down on the edge of the bed and gently put her hand on Chuck's shaking shoulder. "Chuck," she whispered. "It's alright."

"You can't go," he insisted. "I can't live without you..."

Rebecca slowly rubbed her hand across his shoulder. "It's okay, Chuck," she said quietly. "I'm here. Everything's going to be alright."

And to Rebecca's amazement, hearing that seemed to calm Chuck down, as he stopped shaking, and his body relaxed. "Please stay," she heard him whisper, still talking in his sleep.

"Don't worry," she said to him. "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

**The next morning**

Chuck rocketed out of the bed so quickly he practically broke the sound barrier.

"Oh my fucking God!" he gasped in horror. "Oh, God, oh no – oh fuck -"

Chuck bolted out of the room and across the hall, into the bathroom. He barely reached the toilet before his stomach spasmed, and its contents vacated into the toilet.

As Chuck was trying to compose himself, Rebecca appeared in the doorway. "You know," she said quietly, "I know that what we were doing just there was probably wrong, but that's the first time I've ever had that particular effect on a man."

Chuck looked up at her, and felt his stomach clench again. Swallowing, he said, "Rebecca, you don't understand."

"I understand that you're from the future, and that you're trying not to screw that up," she replied, a hard edge to her voice. "But I hardly understand how that would make you find me so repulsive that you throw up after kissing me."

"Rebecca, it's complicated."

"Well, uncomplicate it, dammit!" Now Rebecca was furious. "I let you into my home, I offer you my hospitality, and you can't even have the decency to tell me why you're suddenly so repulsed by me?"

"DAMMIT, REBECCA, SAMANTHA'S MY GIRLFRIEND!"

Rebecca's eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped. "Wh... what?"

"Your daughter," Chuck said bitterly. "Samantha Lisa Delacroix, or as I know her in 2010, Agent Sarah Walker of the Central Intelligence Agency, is my girlfriend. When I woke up this morning, I thought you were her."

Rebecca just looked at Chuck, and was silent for a long moment. Finally, when she spoke, she whispered, "I think you should leave."

Chuck looked back at her. "I think you're right."

Standing, he crossed the hall back to the guest room. Pulling his shoes on, he stormed back out to the living room. Rebecca hadn't moved, and didn't until she heard the door open and then shut again.

That's when her brain kicked in. _What is wrong with you?_ it screamed at her.

Turning, Rebecca rushed to the front door and pulled it open. "Chuck!" she yelled at him.

He turned and looked at her, the troubled look still on his face. "Be safe."

He just nodded and walked out of the yard – right past Roan Montgomery's van, and on down the street.

* * *

A half hour later, Chuck found himself trudging through the campus of San Diego State University, yet again, when he heard the sound of a 427 cubic inch Ford engine behind him. A moment later, a horn beeped, and then a voice called out to him.

"Mr. Carmichael!"

Chuck turned to the sound of the voice – and sure enough, there was John Casey – _ALEX COBURN_, Chuck reminded himself – pulling up to the curb behind him. "Hey, Alex," Chuck said, bending down to look in the window of the Galaxie.

"Hitchhiking again?" Alex asked, in a tone of voice that Chuck knew very well – the tone somewhere between pity and mockery.

Chuck shrugged. "It's been a complicated morning."

"Need a lift?"

Chuck grinned. "Why not," he replied, opening the shotgun door. As he got in the car, he noticed that Alex was in his ROTC uniform. "What's with the uniform?"

Alex sighed. "I went to speak with Captain Beckman this morning, like you suggested," he said. "I wanted to talk to her about transferring to Marine ROTC."

"Oh?" Chuck asked. "What happened?"

"She tore me a new one," Alex replied quietly, as he pulled away from the curb. "She was really pissed that I even dared to consider leaving the Air Force."

_That doesn't seem right_, Chuck thought to himself. _Casey's GOTTA be in the Marines_. "Let's go talk to her."

Alex looked over at Chuck with a look that Chuck was most familiar with – the look of, _Alright, Bartowski, you've lost your mind_. "You're kidding."

"Not at all," Chuck answered. "I can talk some sense into her."

A cross between a grunt and a laugh came out of Alex's mouth – _Grunt #4_, Chuck thought, _humor_. "I think I would actually pay to see that," he replied. "However, you've gotta make it clear to Captain Beckman that this was completely your idea, and I protested the whole way."

"I can do that," Chuck replied. "Just take me to her."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Alex Coburn and Chuck Bartowski sat outside of Dianne Beckman's office on the campus of San Diego State University. Finally, the door flung open, and Captain Beckman stared out. "What IS IT, Coburn?" she snapped, glaring at him. "And who the hell is this?"

Chuck looked at Captain Beckman and tried not to laugh. Some things never changed.

"Uh, Captain, uh, ma'am, this is Mr. Carmichael. He insisted on coming to talk to you about my, uh, request for transfer. I told him that, uh, it was a bad idea -"

"Shut up, Coburn," Beckman growled. "What the hell were you thinking, bringing him -"

To Chuck's horror, Alex Coburn started looking like he was about to cry, and that was something Chuck was not ready to see from the man he knew as John Casey. "Uh, Captain, if we could speak in your office," he said hurriedly, literally pushing Beckman into the office and shutting the door behind him.

As soon as the door was shut, Beckman whirled on Chuck. "Look, asshole, I don't know who the hell you think you are," she snapped. "You do NOT get to tell one of my airmen that he should be a Marine, and you do not get to tell ME that I'm wrong."

Chuck shook his head. "Respectfully, ma'am, but you're wrong. Alex Coburn would be better suited as a United States Marine."

Beckman looked at him in disbelief. "Who the hell are you?"

Well, there was pretty much one way out of this. Withdrawing his wallet, Chuck opened it to his federal ID, careful to cover the date on it – just like the night before, when he had showed it to Rebecca Franco. "Charles Carmichael, Central Intelligence Agency," he replied.

Beckman's eyes narrowed. "Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, bullshit," Beckman replied. "I work for the National Security Agency, pal, and I call bullshit."

Chuck put his wallet back away and crossed his arms. "Then explain to me how I know that even though you just recently got married, you've had an ongoing affair with Agent Roan Montgomery since 1977, and you have no plans to break it off anytime soon."

Beckman's eyes went from very narrow to very wide, and her face went pale. "How... how do you know that?"

"Like I said," Chuck shot back, "CIA."

Beckman nodded. "Alright," she said uncertainly. "Then, uh, Agent Carmichael, you need to understand, I'm grooming Mr. Coburn to, uh, to come into the fold at the NSA one day, and I need him in the Air Force."

"Respectfully, I disagree," Chuck replied. "What if he someday ends up in a position where he has to protect an asset who has absolutely no training? I certainly think I'd be a lot more comfortable with that situation if Mr. Coburn had Marine Corps training because, no disrespect to the Air Force, but the Marines go through much more thorough training."

Beckman stared at Chuck for a long minute. "You think I should approve Mr. Coburn's transfer."

"I do."

* * *

A moment later, Chuck emerged from Beckman's office, and looked at Alex, victory written all over his face. "Well, congratulations," he said, "MARINE."

Alex jumped out of his chair. "You're kidding!"

"Not at all," Chuck replied.

"I don't believe it," Alex said. "How... how did you convince her?"

Chuck laughed. "Alex, I've always wanted to say this," he answered. "I would tell you... but then I'd have to kill you."

* * *

Jack Burton pulled his old Lincoln into the driveway of his house. Home at last.

And Rebecca's car was here, too. She must have had the day off.

He was home two days early. He wanted to surprise his wife – their marriage had been bumpy lately, and he wanted to make things right.

When he opened the front door, however, she screamed and just about jumped out of her skin. "Oh, God, it's just you, Jack," she said as he entered the house.

"Well, hello to you, too," he said uncertainly as she stood. "Are you alright?"

Rebecca shook her head. "It's been a weird couple of days," she said quietly – and that was when Samantha started to cry. "Baby's up," Rebecca said. "Let me go get her, and I'll be right back."

She turned and disappeared into the hallway – and then, a moment later, Jack followed. He wanted to see his daughter.

As he passed the bathroom, however, something caught his eye. "What on earth is that?"

A moment later, Rebecca returned to the living room, Samantha in her arms, clean diaper on, bottle in her mouth. "Look who's home, little Sam!" she started to say – but Jack interrupted her.

"Rebecca."

She didn't like that tone of voice, and looked up – to see Jack, holding Chuck's belt in his hand.

There was a quiet fury behind his voice. "Whose fucking belt is this?"

* * *

Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Rebecca Franco – Anna Torv  
Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Cole Barker – Jonathan Cake  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Roan Montgomery – John Larroquette  
1980 Stephen Bartowski – Ryan Eggold  
1980 Roan Montgomery – Chris Pine  
1980 Emmett Brown – Charlie Sheen  
1980 Mary Bartowski – AnnaLynne McCord  
Alex Coburn – Sterling Jones  
1980 Dianne Beckman – Jewel Staite  
1980 Jack Burton – Kevin Connolly

_For the record, yes, I'm aware that Spock quoted that line in the 2009 _Star Trek_ movie. However, the first time he said it was in 1991's _Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country_, when discussing how the _Enterprise_ could possibly have fired torpedoes that were still on board the ship._


	5. Cause and Effect

"Whose fucking belt is this?"

Rebecca's mouth went dry as she looked at the belt in her husband's hands. She remembered Chuck taking off his belt and leaving it in the bathroom before climbing into the guest bed, grumbling that it would probably poke him in an uncomfortable fashion if he left it on. Then, he had ended up leaving in such a hurry, just an hour before – and really, given that Jack was home, it was a VERY good thing he had – that he had left it behind.

"Um..."

"Rebecca, who are you fucking?"

And that was all Rebecca Franco needed to hear from her husband to flip the switch. Yes, maybe she HAD made out with Chuck Carmichael when he mistook her for her own daughter (and there was not enough brain bleach to make that go away), but she had NOT fucked him. She had NOT had sex with anybody who wasn't named Jackson Burt Delacroix, and she resented the implication that she had.

"I didn't fuck anybody, Jack," she growled. "For your information, that belt belongs to a friend. Yes, he's a male friend, and yes, he slept in the guest bed last night. But I did not fuck him."

"The guest bed?" Jack asked in disbelief. "And pray tell, why was a MALE friend sleeping in the guest bed?"

"He was in a car accident," Rebecca replied. "I happened to come across him, and he was being a stubborn ass who wouldn't go to the hospital."

"Uh-huh," Jack shot back sarcastically, heading toward the hallway. "Okay, so, yes, I see a guest bed, that's all mussed up like somebody's been sleeping in it," he said, looking into the guest bedroom. "And in here, I see..."

Jack froze in the doorway of the master bedroom, and then turned around.

As a child, Rebecca had often wondered what pure, unadulterated doom looked like, but she had always figured it would be in the form of Soviet nuclear missiles plunging to earth. However, right at the moment, that pure, unadulterated doom was staring right at her, manifested in the person of her husband.

"I see a perfectly made, untouched master bed," he said softly. "And given that you look like you just VERY recently awoke, I have my doubts as to whether you've taken the opportunity to make it since you woke up."

"Jack -"

"Get out," Jack interrupted, advancing menacingly toward Rebecca. "Get out of my house, you fucking whore."

Now Rebecca was frightened. Turning around, she made a beeline for the living room, where she picked up Samantha -

"Put my daughter down."

Rebecca turned back around to face Jack. "Excuse me?"

"I said, put my daughter DOWN!" Jack barked. "No whore is taking my daughter with her!"

Rebecca looked from Samantha to Jack – and then to Jack's hand. Chuck's belt was still in his hand, and he had started to curl it up, to double it over -

_Oh my God, if he hits me while I'm holding Samantha..._

"Okay," Rebecca said, her voice sounding far more frightened than she wanted it to. _Dammit, hold it together!_ "Okay, I'll leave her here with you. But Jack, I swear to God, if you hurt her -"

Jack glared daggers at Rebecca. "I would never hurt my daughter. I love her, and that's why I don't want some whore around her."

Rebecca set Samantha down on the couch, and then began to back toward the door. She kept her eyes on Jack, but as soon as she moved away from Samantha, Jack seemed to lose interest in her. He dropped Chuck's belt to the floor, and picked Samantha up, his demeanor changing immediately.

"Hello, my beautiful little princess," he said gently, as Rebecca backed out the door.

Closing the door behind her, Rebecca headed toward her Mustang – and then realized she didn't have her keys. Or any money. Or her driver's license.

And there was no way she could go back in that house. "Dammit," she muttered – and then choked up as a sob escaped her throat. "Dammit!"

Turning toward the driveway, she began to walk dejectedly toward the street – and then something shiny caught her eye.

She turned toward Jack's car – and, yes indeed, the keys were still in the ignition.

Rebecca stopped for a moment, thinking over what she was going to do next. _Chuck_, she thought. _He'll help me, he can explain to Jack what's going on. If Jack doesn't kill him first_.

But Chuck was a federal agent. Surely he could defend himself. Just, where did he say he was going last night?

_It was off the 395 – the 15!_ she corrected herself angrily. _It was something... 10-something, Gayube Lane? Yeah, that sounds right._

Wrenching open the door of Jack's Lincoln, she slid in, and twisted the key. The old Ford engine turned over with a roar, and jamming the car into reverse, she backed out into the street, tires squealing as she popped it into drive and drove off.

A moment later, Jack Burton appeared on the front porch. "Son of a BITCH!" he shouted, as his car roared off down the street.

And a moment after that, Roan Montgomery's GMC Vandura zoomed away from the front of the house. Montgomery, who was supposed to be keeping watch over Chuck Bartowski, had somehow fallen deeply asleep, and hadn't been roused until just now.

"Oh, hell," he groused as he pulled out in pursuit of the Lincoln. This was probably not for the best.

* * *

"Mr. Carmichael, I really don't know how I can repay you," Alex Coburn said as he and Chuck drove toward the south end of San Diego State's campus. "I mean, I can't truthfully say that being in the Marine Corps has always been my dream, but it's going to open up so many more opportunities for me."

"You can start by not pulling a gun on me," Chuck muttered under his breath.

Alex looked at him curiously. "Excuse me?"

"Don't worry about it," Chuck replied. "The way I look at it, you helped me out the other night, so I'm happy to help you out today."

"Well, like I said, I appreciate it," Alex said. "If there's anything I can ever do for you, you just let me know."

Chuck nodded. "I will do that. Um, as for right now, I need to go back to the same place you took me last night."

"Up near Clairemont Mesa?" Alex asked.

"Right," Chuck replied.

Alex glanced over at Chuck, a curious look on his face, and then grinned. "How exactly did you wind up back down here, Mr. Carmichael?"

Chuck sighed. "Well, it's a long sto- OH SHIT!"

The light on College Avenue had just turned green as Alex was approaching the intersection, and so as he crossed over Montezuma Road, he didn't even slow down.

He was completely oblivious to the speeding gold Lincoln Continental coming down Montezuma.

The Lincoln smashed into the right rear quarter of Alex Coburn's Ford Galaxie at nearly fifty miles per hour. The Galaxie spun around and slid toward a light pole on the corner and smashed into it, causing the light pole to bend and crumple toward the street.

The force of the collision almost completely disintegrated the front end of the Lincoln, which lost control and flew into a pickup truck that had come to a stop on the street. The rear end of the Lincoln flipped up in the air, causing it to vault over the back of the truck. The car slammed into the ground, all four wheels bending outward as it came to a halt.

* * *

Chuck Bartowski returned to consciousness before Alex Coburn did. Doing a sort of personal inventory, he didn't feel any pain, didn't notice blood coming from anywhere vital.

Chuck looked over at Alex. He appeared to still be breathing, but had a nasty gash on his forehead from hitting his head on the steering wheel. _Should've put seatbelts in, Casey,_ Chuck thought to himself.

Reaching over to Alex's neck, Chuck felt for a pulse and found one. It was strong and steady, so it seemed Alex was going to be okay.

Pulling the door handle, Chuck forced open his car door. As he stood up, he felt a twinge in his back – not TOO terribly surprising, but not crippling. Looking to make sure he wasn't going to get run over, Chuck ran across the street to where the smoking remains of the Lincoln sat -

"Oh my God," he gasped, seeing the bloodied form of Rebecca Franco sitting behind the steering wheel. "Oh, shit, oh God -"

Then his breath caught in his throat. _Oh, God, was Sarah in the car?_

Frantically, Chuck wrenched open the driver's door of the Lincoln. Reaching into the car, he unbuckled her seatbelt and started pulling her out of the car -

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY WIFE, SCHNOOK!"

* * *

As soon as the Lincoln had gone flying down Baja Drive, Jack Delacroix had grabbed the keys to his wife's Mustang, made sure Samantha was safely secured in her car seat and driven off down the street in pursuit – at a relatively sedate speed. He had watched in horror as Rebecca had slammed into the Ford Galaxie -

And then, when that guy got out of the Galaxie and ran across the street to his Lincoln, Jack knew – he just KNEW – that it was the guy whose belt had been left in his bathroom. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew.

He would be fucked if this son of a bitch was his wife's hero.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY WIFE, SCHNOOK!" he shouted.

_Schnook?_ he immediately thought to himself. _How could I not come up with something better than that?_

Running up to the car, he was about to lay into this asshole, but he was beaten to it.

"Jack Burton?" the guy asked.

Jack froze. That was the name used on his last con. How the hell did this asshole know that name?

"How do you know that name?"

"Charles Carmichael," he replied. "Central Intelligence Agency."

Jack's heart pretty much stopped. "Oh, shit."

"No, Jack, don't worry!" Carmichael replied, putting his hands up. "I'm not here for you. I just want to get your wife out of this car."

"Yeah," Jack replied. "I can take care of that."

Reaching into the Lincoln, Jack grabbed his wife under her arms, and slowly dragged her out of the car. As he set her down on the pavement, she coughed, and her eyes fluttered open.

"Jack?" she asked weakly. Then she saw the other man standing over her. "Chuck?"

She slipped back into unconsciousness, and as she did so, Jack Delacroix looked at the belt loops on Charles Carmichael's pants -

NO BELT.

Gently setting his wife's shoulders down on the street, Jack grabbed Carmichael by the collar and slammed him into the side of the wrecked Lincoln. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS YOUR BELT DOING IN MY BATHROOM?" he roared.

Chuck's eyes went wide. "No, no, it's not what you think!" he insisted. "I swear, nothing happened between me and Rebecca!"

"Oh, on a first name basis with my wife are you?" Jack shouted. "You better give me one good reason not to beat your ass into the gr-"

Jack found himself suddenly flying backward, and as he was body-checked into the side of the truck his Lincoln had flipped over, he found himself face to face with a very angry, very dangerous looking man.

"You keep your fucking hands off of Mr. Carmichael," Alex Coburn growled, ignoring the blood dripping down his face.

"He fucked my wife!"

"I did NOT have sex with your wife!"

"I don't care if he was dipping his chocolate in Rosalynn Carter's peanut butter!" Alex shouted. "Keep your goddamn hands to yourself, pal!"

_What IS IT with him and that particular metaphor?_ Chuck thought disgustedly. He was about to reply, but he was interrupted -

"Uh, excuse me..."

A very weak female voice interrupted the three-way shouting match. Rebecca Franco had woken back up. "I hate to interrupt you, but I seem to be bleeding," she said. "And I'm pretty sure I've got a broken leg. Do you think we can get an ambulance here?"

Chuck and Alex both turned toward Rebecca. "Crap," Alex uttered as he noticed the spreading blood on Rebecca's shirt. "Ma'am, I'm Alex Coburn," he said, dropping to his knees. "I've been trained in emergency field medicine, so I can help you out -"

"Mr. Coburn, you're cute," Rebecca laughed weakly. "But I'm an EMT. If you want to help, do what I tell you."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Rebecca had been loaded into an ambulance belonging to the San Diego Fire Department. It turned out that the two paramedics in the ambulance actually knew her, so they had reacted with a certain amount of alacrity when they discovered that Rebecca was the injured party here.

When one of the paramedics noticed the blood coming from Alex's head, he had sternly insisted that he be taken away in an ambulance as well. Alex had protested, but then the paramedic had a brief whispered conference with one of the police officers present, and the police officer had then informed Alex in no uncertain terms that if he didn't go to the hospital to be checked out, he would arrest him for driving without a seatbelt – and then take him to the hospital, in custody.

So, when the second ambulance showed up, Alex grudgingly got on board and was whisked away, leaving the police without either of the primary drivers in the accident to deal with.

As Alex's Galaxie and Jack's Lincoln were scraped off the street, Chuck sat in the shotgun seat of Rebecca's Mustang as Jack followed the ambulances, trying to keep his cover story straight. "I promise you, nothing happened between me and Rebecca," he swore. "I was in a bad car accident last night, she was the paramedic who found me, and since I refused to go to the hospital, she insisted that I sleep in your guest bedroom so she could keep an eye on me."

"So why, exactly, was our bed untouched?" Jack shot back. "I highly doubt that you needed such close medical observation that she had to sleep in the guest bed with you."

"She, uh, she slept on the floor," Chuck replied, hoping that Jack didn't notice that he had suddenly started sweating profusely.

Jack cast a sideways glance at Chuck. "For your sake, I hope that's true," he growled. "Mind telling me why your belt was left behind?"

"I had to leave in a hurry this morning," Chuck replied – and that wasn't really a lie, was it? "I've got a lot of work I have to get done, and a very short period of time in which to accomplish it."

"And what exactly is it that you do, Mr. Carmichael?"

Chuck sighed. "I really can't talk about it."

"Lovely," Jack grumbled. "So I'm just supposed to trust you when you say there's nothing going on between you and my wife?"

_Not intentionally_, Chuck thought. _ I thought she was your daughter!_

However, he didn't figure that that particular statement would go over very well with Jack Burton right at that moment.

* * *

"He's in Ms. Franco's Mustang with Mr. Delacroix," Roan Montgomery reported into his radio, keeping the Vandura a good distance back. "He didn't appear to be hurt in the car accident -"

"_HE'S A DAMN FOOL!_" the voice of Dr. Emmett Brown raged from the other end. "_WHAT THE HELL IS HE THINKING? HE'S GOT TO BE WREAKING HAVOC ON THE TIME CONTINUUM!_"

Montgomery shook his head. "Look, Kronos, I wouldn't know," he sighed. "You're the physicist. What possible consequences could this have?"

"_THE HELL IF I KNOW!_"

"For a guy with a doctorate in theoretical physics, you're a moron sometimes," Montgomery muttered as he chucked the radio into the passenger seat. However, he had been so focused on the Mustang in front of him and the man on the other end of the radio that he didn't notice that he had himself picked up a tail.

* * *

"So you're sure you saw Frost and Orion with this individual?" Alexei Volkoff asked, looking at his chief of security, Marko Andropov.

"Yes, sir, completely certain," Andropov replied, keeping an eye on the black GMC van several vehicles ahead. "I believe this is the infamous Agent Aeon."

Volkoff snorted. "Marko, come now, Agent Aeon is a legend, an urban myth made up to scare potential KGB agents."

"Respectfully, sir, he's not," Andropov said. "I've come face-to-face with the man, and my observations of him in the field have shown him to fully live up to his reputation as the real life incarnation of James Bond."

"Hmmm." Volkoff scratched his head. "What in heaven's name is he doing in San Diego, tailing a pair of two-bit nobodies and an infant?"

Andropov sighed. "The official story is that he was declared _persona non grata_ in Angola," he replied. "President Carter dragged him home kicking and screaming. But rumor has it that there's a very different reason for him being in San Diego."

"And that is..."

"His girlfriend, sir. One Captain Dianne Beckman, director for the US Air Force ROTC program at the University of San Diego."

"Beckman," Volkoff mused. "Beckman, Beckman... I know this name." He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "She just married the executive at McDonnell Douglas, did she not?"

Andropov shook his head. "Again, the intelligence community believes this to a marriage of convenience, sir. He is much older than she, has a certain taste for younger Thai women, and is very influential on Capitol Hill, whereas she is a very ambitious young officer who happens to be very well connected at the Pentagon."

"So it serves them both well," Volkoff said. "Let me ask you this, Marko. Do you believe that we could use this Captain Beckman as a negotiating piece against Agent Aeon to get him to flip on Orion and Frost?"

Marko Andropov grinned unpleasantly. "Yes, sir, I believe we could."

"Then turn the car around," Alexei Volkoff replied calmly, hiding the growing sense of excitement he felt. "Let's have some fun, shall we?"

* * *

Captain Dianne Beckman was not a happy individual. She was still pissed at that Carmichael son-of-a-bitch for storming into her office earlier and forcing her hand with Alex Coburn. She couldn't deny that he had a point regarding the Marine Corps' training regimen, but what right did that give him to take away one of her most promising young recruits?

_He didn't take Coburn away, Dianne_, a voice in her head told her. _He'll still be on campus. You can still keep contact with him, and he can still make an excellent NSA agent_.

However, as pissed off as she was about the loss of Coburn to the USMC program, she was extremely worried by the knowledge that Carmichael seemed to have. How in the HELL did he know about her and Roan Montgomery? That was a particular piece of knowledge that, if it ever got out, would probably destroy Roan's career, and would most certainly destroy hers.

So distracted was Dianne Beckman by her thoughts as she walked out to her car that she didn't notice the black Pontiac Bonneville pull up behind her. "Dianne Beckman?" she heard.

Looking at the Bonneville, she saw a gun pointed out the passenger window at her, and a man standing in front of the car, pointing another gun at her. "You will please come with us," the man standing outside the car said, a distinct Russian accent coloring his voice.

Dianne's heart leaped into her throat._ Oh God, the KGB's kidnapping me._ "What if I don't?" she asked, trying to hide the sudden terror that swept through her body. "You'll kill me?"

The man inside the car smiled, and when he spoke, there was only a cultured British accent to his voice. "Oh, Dianne," he said. "No, we're not going to kill you. It would be bad for my reputation to kill a US Air Force officer."

She frowned. "Your reputation?"

His response chilled her. "Surely you've heard of me, Captain Beckman... Alexei Volkoff?" He didn't wait for an answer – not that he would've gotten one, because at the name _Volkoff_, Beckman's heart felt like it stopped and her brain ceased to function. "No, if you do not come with us, we will expose your relationship with Roan Montgomery, and then we will kill him."

* * *

"This is a hell of a mess you've gotten us into here, Charles," Stephen Bartowski said to Chuck as they sat at the table in the cafeteria of the hospital at the University of California – San Diego. "Dr. Brown thinks you might – no, almost certainly have permanently disrupted the temporality of the universe. And we've got to set things right. Your mother and I -"

"DON'T," Chuck said, holding up a warning hand. "I don't care if the two of you HAVE figured out your relationship to me. The fact of the matter is, I cannot deal with that right at the moment. Right at the moment, I have to figure out how the hell to fix things."

"How about you start by keeping your hands the hell off of 1980?" he heard the outraged voice of Dr. Emmett Brown shout as he strode into the cafeteria. "My God, man, your parents know who you are, you landed yourself smack in the middle of a marital conflict between your girlfriend's parents, you put her life in danger – and now you're telling me you changed the course of the military career of your girlfriend's partner?" Brown looked at Chuck incredulously. "Stanford's standards must change drastically in the next thirty years, because for a Cardinal alum, you're a fucking moron!"

"Thanks," Chuck replied dryly. "That's what I needed right now, Dr. Brown. I needed to be ripped a new asshole over something you're not even sure of."

"I might not be one hundred percent sure, but I'm pretty damn certain," Brown growled. "I have a doctorate in this shit, Carmich-"

"LOOK," Chuck interrupted him, rising from his chair. "Have you ever considered the possibility that this was all meant to happen? Have you ever considered the possibility that the courses of the lives of Sarah Walker and John Casey only happened the way they did because I went back in time and interacted with them?"

"Why don't you take a look at the picture on your iPhone and tell me how it's looking," Brown snapped.

_Oh._ Chuck hadn't even considered that. Pulling out his iPhone, he turned it on, and went directly to the picture of him and Sarah at Comic-Con -

It was back to normal. Chuck smiled in spite of his anger, a sigh of relief escaping him – and then, his relieved smile was replaced with a triumphant one, as he turned the phone toward Brown.

"Proves nothing," Brown shot back, reaching up to swipe the screen. "Take a look at Colonel Casey."

Chuck turned the phone back toward himself. He had taken a picture of Casey and Morgan having an argument at the Buy More a couple of weeks before -

"What the hell?" Both Casey and Morgan were... translucent? They were there, but Chuck could see through them – as if they were fading.

"Yeah, Agent Moron," Brown grumbled. "Fantastic job. Looks like you've already set the wheels in motion for a couple of people to wind up dead."

"Oh, shit," Chuck breathed. "Oh, crap." He shook his head. "This one – this one's easy to fix. I can go back, I can talk to Captain Beckman -"

"No, you can't."

Chuck turned at the sound of Roan Montgomery's voice – and was shocked to see the CIA agent standing in the doorway, looking like his puppy had been run over by a car. "Dianne's been kidnapped," Roan said, his voice hollow. "I just got a ransom call."

Stephen Bartowski stood up from the table, a look of disbelief on his face. "From whom?"

Montgomery looked directly at Bartowski. "You know him pretty well," he said. "It was Alexei Volkoff."

* * *

1980 Jack Burton – Kevin Connolly  
Rebecca Franco – Anna Torv  
1980 Roan Montgomery – Chris Pine  
Alex Coburn – Sterling Jones  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
1980 Emmett Brown – Charlie Sheen  
1980 Alexei Volkoff – Christian Bale  
Marko Andropov – Enver Gjokaj  
1980 Dianne Beckman – Jewel Staite  
1980 Stephen Bartowski – Ryan Eggold


	6. God, Corps, Country

After Roan Montgomery had broken the news to the team that Dianne Beckman had been kidnapped, Stephen Bartowski had decided that the situation had officially gotten out of hand. "I am taking command of this operation," he had declared, there in the hospital. "This is now Operation Homecoming, a secret operation of the Central Intelligence Agency. If anybody has a problem with that, you can kiss my ass."

Having ensured that both Alex Coburn and Rebecca Franco were in the very capable care of the staff of the University of California – San Diego Medical Center, Stephen Bartowski ordered EVERYBODY back to the house on Clairemont Mesa, over Roan Montgomery's strenuous objections. Obviously, Roan wanted to go kick ass and take names until Dianne Beckman was found, but as Stephen reminded him, there was no way that would be helpful.

At least, not for right now.

Chuck couldn't remember having ever seen his father like this before – but then again, he had only ever known his father as a relatively meek scientist, then as a broken man after his mother left them, and then, as a clearly lucid but definitely eccentric individual when he resurfaced in 2009. So to see him as a take-charge CIA agent, in command of an operation, was mildly jarring.

When they returned to the house, Dr. Brown demanded to conduct a briefing. "It's incredibly important," he had growled when Stephen Bartowski rolled his eyes. "We HAVE to discuss the mess that Mr. Carmichael has created here."

He rolled a huge chalkboard into the living room and began drawing a diagram on it. "Dear Lord, he's Glenn Beck," Chuck muttered under his breath.

Brown stopped drawing and turned around. "What the hell does that mean?" he demanded.

"Just remember that name," Chuck replied with a grin. "It'll make sense in thirty years."

Brown shook his head and continued drawing. After a couple more minutes, he stopped drawing. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen, this is the situation we face," he announced.

In the upper left hand corner of the board, he had written "1980" and drawn a straight line next to it, all the way across the board. "This was the timeline up until approximately seven o'clock last night," he informed them. "1980 as it was until Mr. Carmichael arrived."

He then pointed to a diagonal line that went down to another line, one with hashmarks on it. "This is 1980 as we now know it," he said. "Mr. Carmichael's arrival has disrupted our timeline, with the following events occuring:

"One. Upon his arrival, Mr. Carmichael's car crashed into the team bus for the San Diego Clippers professional basketball franchise." That proclamation was immediately greeted with looks of confusion. "Doesn't seem to matter, right?" Brown asked. "Mr. Carmichael. In 2010, where do the Clippers play?"

"Uh, they play in Los Angeles," Chuck replied. "Same building as the Lakers."

"Do they now," Brown said dryly. "And pray, tell, who is their owner?"

Chuck grimaced. "Donald Sterling," he replied. "Biggest tightwad in the NBA."

"Is that so," Brown said, his tone of voice unchanged. "Well, Mr. Carmichael, you seem to have messed that up pretty good."

Chuck frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Try reading the newspaper every once in a while," Brown grumbled, throwing down the November 5th edition of the San Diego Union-Tribune.

**CLIPPERS SABOTAGED**, the headline declared, with a sub-header of **_Levin rejects Sterling offer_**.

Eyes widening, Chuck picked up the newspaper. "San Diego Clippers owner Irv Levin today rejected real estate tycoon Donald Sterling's offer to purchase the franchise, after months of negotiation," he read. "Citing an unknown act of vandalism that resulted in nearly $10,000 in damage to the team bus, he announced that he would not be intimidated into selling the team. With Levin's change of heart, this likely ends talk of a potential move by the Clippers to Orange County."

Chuck set the newspaper down. "How could you have known that was a change, though?" he asked, confused.

"Because it's been in the news for months!" Brown shot back. "I'm a huge basketball fan! I didn't want the Clippers to move to Los Angeles, but it was gonna happen!"

"And now it's not," Chuck sighed.

"Yes, well, that's not all you've screwed up," Brown said. "May I continue?"

Chuck sighed again, but nodded.

"Two. Immediately following the accident, Chuck was discovered by one Ms. Rebecca Franco, emergency medical technician for the San Diego Fire Department. This particular development is problematic, because it turns out that Ms. Franco is the mother of the currently seven month-old Samantha Lisa Delacroix, or as she is known in 2010, Agent Sarah Walker of the Central Intelligence Agency. In any other situation, this might not present a problem, except that Agent Walker is Mr. Carmichael's partner and girlfriend.

"Three. Mr. Carmichael then came here last night, and while traveling, encountered Mr. Alexander Coburn, a student at San Diego State University and a cadet in the US Air Force ROTC program there. Again, this would not have been a particular issue except that, once again, in 2010, Mr. Coburn is better known as Lt. Colonel John Casey, of the United States Marine Corps and the National Security Agency. He is another member of Mr. Carmichael's team in that time.

"Four. Upon his arrival here last night, Mr. Carmichael demanded that we make contact with Stephen J. Bartowski, or as he was known to us prior to last night, Agent Orion. Upon invoking the code words 'Kali' and 'Omaha', Orion and his partner – Agent Frost, a.k.a. Mary E. Bartowski – abandoned their post to come here. Unfortunately, from what we can determine, upon abandoning their post, their surveillance station was discovered by the individual on whom they were conducting surveillance, Soviet arms dealer Alexei Volkoff. We will return to THAT little problem in a minute.

"Five. Upon determining what had occurred, Mr. Carmichael, Agent Montgomery, the Agents Bartowski, and I returned to the home of Ms. Franco in order to retrieve the damaged time machine. Upon arriving, Mr. Carmichael had some sort of... episode," Brown said disgustedly, rolling his eyes, "brought on by a less than intelligent line of questioning initiated by MRS. Agent Bartowski."

"Hey, wait a minute," Mary interrupted angrily. "Are you telling me that if you had a kid and you had the opportunity to see what they were like thirty years from now, you wouldn't take the chance?"

"No, I WOULD NOT," Brown shot back. "I am a scientist. Now, may I finish?"

Mary shook her head. "Whatever."

"Six. Following Mr. Carmichael's episode, Ms. Franco demanded that he remain under her care for observation. As she is a medical professional and I am not, I did not believe I was qualified to question her judgment." Brown sighed. "I see now that that decision was less than wise.

"Speaking of less than wise decisions," he continued, "seven. The following morning, Mr. Carmichael, having apparently lost his mind, decided to attempt to have sex with Ms. Franco."

"I thought she was Agent Walker," Chuck mumbled.

"Good for you," Brown deadpanned. "May I suggest you add _Oedipus the King_ to your summer reading list?"

Stephen Bartowski raised his hand. "Um, if I may, I understand where you're going with that, but unless Mr. Carmichael kills me and tries to sleep with my wife, you're a little off kilter -"

"Agent Bartowski, shut up," Dr. Brown said.

_Damn,_ Chuck thought, _he's really on a roll_.

"Eight. Following his unwise decision, Mr. Carmichael departs Ms. Franco's house and encounters Cadet Coburn once more. Upon learning that he was denied a transfer by his training officer, US Air Force Captain Dianne Beckman, Mr. Carmichael confronted Captian Beckman and, using his status as a federal intelligence officer, demanded that she transfer Cadet Coburn to the Marine Corps ROTC program.

"Nine. While this was ongoing, Ms. Franco's husband, Jackson Burt Delacroix, a.k.a. Jack Burton, returned from a 'business trip' to Atlanta – which, according to the FBI, was in fact a con job – and discovered evidence that led him to believe that his wife had slept with another man. This caused her to flee their house.

"Ten. Following Mr. Carmichael's successful recommendation of transfer for Cadet Coburn, he and Cadet Coburn were leaving the campus of San Diego State University to come here, at which time Cadet Coburn's car was struck at a high rate of speed by a car being driven by Ms. Franco. The resulting accident landed both Ms. Franco and Cadet Coburn in the hospital.

"Eleven. Returning to the matter of Mr. Volkoff, after determining that the Agents Bartowski were in the company of Agent Roan Montgomery, a.k.a. the legendary Agent Aeon, Mr. Volkoff kidnapped Agent Montgomery's secret lover, the aforementioned Captain Beckman. He is now holding her and threatening to kill her unless Agent Montgomery turn over to him the Agents Bartowski."

Dr. Brown finished marking on the chalkboard and looked at Chuck. "All of this, Mr. Carmichael, is as a direct result of your presence here."

"We don't necessarily know that," Chuck replied. "I could just be a pawn in some grand galactic scheme."

"Please," Brown scoffed. "This is causality, Mr. Carmichael. It's science, not religion."

"Or it could be destiny."

Brown actually laughed in Chuck's face. "Mr. Carmichael, give me a break. Did you turn into a Calvinist when I wasn't looking?"

Chuck sighed. "I didn't necessarily say I believe in everything John Calvin had to say, no," he replied. "But I can't deny that it seems like there's always some sort of reason for things to happen. Neither you nor I know that I'm not actually supposed to be here, affecting the course of events in November of 1980."

"Then explain to me the picture of Colonel Casey and Agent Morgan Grimes," Brown shot back. "Why exactly are they fading from view, Mr. Carmichael?"

"Uh..." He had Chuck on that one. "I'm, uh, still working on that."

As Chuck and Brown argued, Stephen and Mary Bartowski slipped out of the room. "Stephen," Mary said once they were out of earshot, "I think it might be time for you and me to initiate the X Protocol."

Stephen looked at his wife in disbelief. "You're kidding."

"I'm not," Mary replied. "There are too many people involved with this now, too many people we have to help – the man our son will become being perhaps the most important one here."

"Mary," Stephen Bartowski said with a sigh, "I understand what you're saying. And obviously, we have to do everything in our power to help Chuck. But after everything that's gone wrong with Volkoff so far, do you really think that now is a good time to initiate the protocol?"

"Stephen, we've been on this for nearly a year," she said. "And if initiating it will get Captain Beckman out of danger, then I think it's time."

* * *

After the argument with Brown, Chuck sat by himself at the table in the kitchen of the house on Clairemont Mesa, racking his brain for solutions to the problem with John Casey. The fact that the picture of him and Morgan was fading indicated to Chuck that at some point Casey ended up dead, and Morgan subsequently ended up dead from a situation where he should have been protected by Casey.

_But what?_ Chuck thought to himself.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. The exact incident where Morgan died wasn't important at that moment. As much as it pained Chuck to even think that way, he knew that he had to figure out how to keep Casey alive first.

Chuck knew that his best bet was somehow accessing the Intersect information on Casey. But how?

Getting up from the table, Chuck crossed to the drawers by the sink. If this house was like any other, it had to have a junk drawer by the sink, and there would be notepads and pencils in that drawer.

It took Chuck six drawers to find the junk drawer, but then he hit pay dirt. He withdrew a notepad and a Magic Marker from the drawer, and sat back down at the table.

**ALEX COBURN**, he wrote in big block letters on a sheet of paper, and waited to flash.

Nothing.

**ALEXANDER COBURN**. Nothing there, either. Next sheet of paper: **JOHN CASEY**. **MAJOR JOHN CASEY**. **LT. COL. JOHN CASEY**.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. And Chuck was starting to notice some strange fumes. He lifted the Magic Marker to his nose -

"Good God," he uttered, after getting a strong whiff of the fumes. "I'm gonna get high if I'm not too careful."

Blinking a few times, he returned the marker to the paper, and decided to try one more thing. On the same sheet of paper, he wrote – one on top of the other –

**ALEX COBURN  
JOHN CASEY**

And that did it for the Intersect. Immediately, it set off a flash of information, but when Chuck came out of the flash, there was one piece of information that interested him more than any other.

Alex Coburn was recruited by the Ring on March 15th, 1989. That much, Chuck already knew. However, what he did not know was that Lieutenant Alex Coburn, United States **AIR FORCE**, had been rejected by the USAF's training program for the top-secret F-117 Nighthawk stealth fighter-bomber on December 27th, 1987. He had been so disappointed that he had applied for – and received – a transfer to the United States Marine Corps.

Chuck felt like the blood was draining from his head. "Oh, Christ," he whispered. "Oh, God, I screwed up. If Casey had been denied that huge an opportunity... he probably would still have been upset fifteen months later... and would've jumped at the opportunity to do something big – but he would've been very tentative about it, knowing that the rug could be pulled out from under him at any point."

He frowned. "But now... if he's a Marine to start with... either he turns down the Ring... or he joins up, and is utterly loyal to Colonel Keller."

"Hmmm..." Then Chuck laughed. "Uh-oh..."

He brought the Magic Marker to his nose again. "Oh, yeah," he muttered upon getting a whiff of the fumes. "I am DEFINITELY high."

* * *

Alexei Volkoff had decided it was time to leave the Holiday Inn. In fact, he was going to go somewhere that there was no way that Frost and Orion could follow him.

Marko Andropov had, several months before, set up a safe house for Volkoff in Oceanside – and that was where Volkoff was, accompanied by Andropov and the terrified Captain Dianne Beckman (USAF). "And now that we're all settled in," he announced to the empty office in which he sat, "it's time to make a phone call."

Lifting the receiver on the desk, Volkoff painstakingly dialed the full eleven digit phone number for Roan Montgomery's cellular phone. That was the rottenly painful thing about contacting the man – even though both the house in which Volkoff sat and the cellular phone itself were in the 619 area code, because Montgomery's phone was one of those new cellular phones that was transportable with nothing more than a briefcase, Volkoff had to dial it as a long distance call.

_Pacific Bell's going to charge me up the ass for this call, of that I'm certain_, Volkoff growled inwardly as he heard the ringing of the phone on the other end. After three rings, it was picked up – but it was not Roan Montgomery that answered.

"_Hello?_"

Volkoff grinned. THIS was going to be fun. "Why, hello, Agent Frost," he said. "What a pleasant surprise to hear your voice on the other end."

"_I think you know very well why I'm answering this phone, Volkoff_."

"Why, could it be that I have Agent Montgomery's dear Dianne Beckman in my custody?" Volkoff replied. "Does he not trust himself to talk to me?"

"_Something like that_," Frost replied. "_Now listen to me, Volkoff. We want Beckman back, and we can either do this peacefully, or we can do it violently._"

"Violently?" Volkoff laughed. "My dear Frost, I am quite certain that neither you nor your Orion are going to inflict violence upon me."

He heard Frost sigh on the other end. "_Clearly, you don't know us as well as you think, Volkoff_," she shot back. "_However, we would **prefer** it if we could sit down and talk about this with you._"

"I will agree to that," Volkoff replied. "But there will be no 'we'. You will come and see me by yourself, and if you and I can come to agreeable terms, then I will permit you to take custody of Captain Beckman."

There was silence on the other end for a long moment. "Agent Frost?"

"_Fine_," she finally said. "_When, and where?_"

Volkoff grinned – and had anybody been in the room to see it, they would've likely been terrified by the remarkably wolfish visage of the Soviet arms tycoon. "Five o'clock, Agent Frost," he replied. "Come to 614 North Clementine Street, in Oceanside. And come alone."

The grin disappeared from his face. "Do not attempt to double-cross me, Agent Frost," he added. "If you do, Captain Beckman will not be the only one I kill this afternoon."

* * *

When Chuck recovered from his Magic Marker high, he presented his plan to course-correct John Casey's life to Dr. Brown – and it was immediately shot down. "There is no possible way that will work," Brown laughed at him. "Come on, Carmichael. Think realistically here."

Chuck sighed. "Dammit," he said, frustrated. "I mean, what if – I don't know, what if we tried it, but through hypnosis? Even if it didn't work, it's not like he would remember!"

He stood up and started pacing around the living room, oblivious to the fact that Brown's eyes had gone wide and he was staring at Chuck. "I mean, I've gotta figure out how to make this work, or I'm simply screwed," Chuck grumbled. "That's not pressure or anyt-"

"Hypnosis," Brown said softly.

Chuck turned to him with a frown. "What?"

Brown looked back up at Chuck. "Of course!" he said. "Hypnosis! It's a brilliant thought, Mr. Carmichael! And I know just the man to hypnotize Cadet Coburn for us!"

Half an hour later, Chuck and Dr. Brown were waiting outside of the UCSD Medical Center when Chuck saw a tall, thin man walking toward them. "Wait a second," Chuck said, recognizing the man. "I know him. That's Dr. Leo Dreyfus!"

"Indeed it is," Dr. Brown said. "He's one of the best psychologists on the government's payroll, and if anybody can put your Cadet Coburn into the sort of suggestive hypnotic state we need, it's him."

Then he turned to Chuck. "And how exactly do **you **know him, Mr. Carmichael?"

"Uh, I had to go through some counseling a couple months back," Chuck replied, trying to not say any more than he had to. "I'd rather just leave it at that."

Brown frowned, but nodded. "Fair enough."

* * *

Alex Coburn was not expecting visitors. He was certainly not expecting to see Charles Carmichael, with two particularly geeky looking individuals with him. "Mr. Carmichael!" he said, pleasantly surprised. "Didn't expect to see you again today!"

"Well, I just wanted to let you know that your car's been taken care of," Chuck replied. "San Diego PD has it in impound, and they'll be happy to release it to you as soon as you're out of here."

The smile fell from Coburn's face. "Thanks, Mr. Carmichael, but I think it might be time to let the Galaxie go," he said with a sigh. "She got beat up pretty bad in that accident." He looked down. "Anyway, who are these two folks you've got with you?"

"Alex, this is Dr. Brown, and this is Dr. Dreyfus," Chuck replied, introducing the two men. "Dr. Dreyfus wants to make sure you're alright, make sure there's nothing wrong with your head."

"Mr. Coburn, I understand you took a rather nasty crack to the head in the accident?" Dr. Dreyfus asked, with no preamble.

"Uh, yeah -"

"Alright then. Here's what I want you to do. Close your eyes and listen to my voice," Dreyfus said, his voice turning very neutral, devoid of variation, and dropping a few levels in pitch.

"Uh, okay," Alex said, looking confused, but complying nonetheless.

"Now, Mr. Coburn, I want you to breathe in and out, very slowly," Dr. Dreyfus said. "Continue doing that. While you're breathing, I want you to clear your mind. Don't think about anything, just keep breathing, and focus on my voice."

As Chuck watched, Alex's breathing got slower and slower. "Good," Dr. Dreyfus said. "Now, I want you to picture yourself on the bluff above La Jolla Shores Beach. The sun is setting over the Pacific Ocean, and you're all by yourself."

Chuck turned to look at Dr. Dreyfus, confused. Dreyfus nodded, as if to say, _Trust me_. "In a moment, Mr. Carmichael is going to walk up to you, and want to talk to you. When he says the words, 'For God, Corps, and country,' you will leave La Jolla Shores and return to this hospital. Do you understand?"

Alex Coburn's voice sounded like it was coming from underneath ten feet of water. "Yes," he said quietly and slowly.

"Very good. You hear Mr. Carmichael approaching from behind you, and you turn to greet him..."

* * *

_Alex Coburn sits alone on the bluffs overlooking La Jolla Shores Beach, watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. Below him, to his left, lies the pier for the Scripps Institute; to his right, an enormous, mansionesque house is being built into the bluffs._

_He hears the scrape of feet on dirt behind him, and turns to see Charles Carmichael approaching him. Alex marvels at the fact that he met Mr. Carmichael not even twenty-four hours ago, but Mr. Carmichael has already been able to get him into the Marine Corps._

"_How's it goin', Alex?" Mr. Carmichael asks. "You like the view?"_

"_Yes, sir, yes I do," Alex replies. "I can't thank you enough, sir –"_

"_And you don't have to," Mr. Carmichael stops him. "But Alex, there is something I need to ask you to do. Alright?"_

"_Sure," Alex says. "What can I do for you, sir?"_

_Mr. Carmichael sighs. "Alex, the first thing you need to understand is this: I'm an agent with the Central Intelligence Agency, and I'm from the future. From the year 2010, to be exact."_

_Alex's eyes widen. "Wow," he breathes. "I mean... I guess that explains how you know me."_

"_That's exactly right," Mr. Carmichael replies. "Now, I'm here to give you a mission that you have to carry out."_

"_A mission from the CIA?" Alex blurts out. "Are you kidding me?"_

_Mr. Carmichael shakes his head. "Not at all, Alex, and I need you to listen VERY carefully."_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_On September 7th, 1988, you will volunteer for a unit of elite Marines that will be going to Honduras to conduct a very black operation. While in Honduras, on March 15th, 1989, you will be approached by a man named Colonel James Keller, who will recruit you into an organization known as the Ring._

"_Alex, the Ring is a domestic terror organization, and joining Colonel Keller is going to involve a great deal of sacrifice, a sacrifice you may not wish to make. But for the sake of the country, you must do this. Do you understand?"_

"_Uh, yes sir..."_

"_Twenty-one years later, Colonel Keller is going to approach you and order you to steal an item from the Central Intelligence Agency. You will steal that item, but you will then turn it over to your team, and at the end of the mission you will kill Colonel Keller."_

"_KILL HIM?"_

"_Yes, Cadet Coburn. You MUST DO THIS."_

_Alex looks unsure. "ALEX. I'm not joking. The fate of the United States of America is dependent upon you doing this."_

_And that is all that Alex needs to hear. Coming to attention, he salutes Mr. Carmichael. "Yes, sir!"_

"_Now, in a moment, you're not going to remember this conversation, but you WILL remember to do everything I just told you," Mr. Carmichael says. "And one more thing..."_

_"Yes, sir?"_

_"The new LTD Crown Victoria, the one that Ford just started production on last year? It's a good car. You should look into it to replace the Galaxie."_

_"Uh, yes sir."_

_"Now, remember, Alex," Mr. Carmichael says, "you're doing this for God, Corps, and country."_

* * *

Alex's eyes snapped open and he looked around the hospital room. "Whoa," he said. "Uh, what just happened?"

"Nothing at all," Chuck replied. "Dr. Dreyfus checked you out, and you're a-okay. You just fell asleep there for a second."

"Oh, well, cool," Alex said. "Uh, thanks for coming to see me, I guess, Mr. Carmichael."

"Yeah, no problem. Uh, you need anything?"

Alex shook his head. "Nope. Just, can you let Captain Beckman know about what's going on? I tried to call her office, but she's not picking up the phone."

Chuck sighed. "Yeah," he replied. "When I see her, I'll let her know."

With that, he turned and exited the room. "I've got to get out of 1980," he muttered as he walked away.

* * *

1980 Roan Montgomery – Chris Pine  
1980 Stephen Bartowski – Ryan Eggold  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
1980 Emmett Brown – Charlie Sheen  
1980 Mary Bartowski – AnnaLynne McCord  
1980 Alexei Volkoff – Christian Bale  
Leo Dreyfus – Christopher Lloyd  
Alex Coburn – Sterling Jones

* * *

_**Author's note:** Yes, I'm aware that I've got the same actor playing Leo Dreyfus in this story as plays him in the season 3 episode "Chuck vs. the Tooth". To that, I give two points: 1) Christopher Lloyd has pretty much appeared to be the same age since about 1982, and 2) this is a _**Back to the Future**_homage. I HAD to have Christopher Lloyd show up at SOME point, and I may yet throw Michael J. Fox in there somehow!  
Now, I've had a couple of questions so far asking how I'm going to handle Alexei Volkoff, in light of the revelation from last night's episode ("Chuck vs. Agent X"). The answer is: it will be revealed in due time. I know exactly how I'm going to handle it, and after the next chapter, so will you!  
By the way, I appreciate everybody who's submitted reviews of this story so far. This story has, to date, one of the highest average review-to-chapter ratios I've ever had. But if you really like the story, do me one more favor -  
Go over to the _TWoP Kicked Us Out, But We Still Love Chuck! _forum at "forum . fanfiction . net / forum / TWoP_Kicked_Us_Out_But_We_Still_Love_Chuck / 49974 /" (make sure you remove the quotes and spaces), and nominate my story in the appropriate **Awesome Awards** categories. This story is eligible for the Stephen J. Bartowski Award for Best Feature-Length Story, the Lt. Colonel John Casey Award for Best Alternate Universe Story, and the Chuck Bartowski Award for Best Overall Story.  
Thanks! _


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